WAR  MEMORIES 
OF  A  CHAPLAIN 


TR'UMBULL 


LIBRARY 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA. 


Class 


-1 

("JO 


WAR  MEMORIES 
OF  AN  ARMY  CHAPLAIN 


, 


WAR  MEMORIES 
OF  AN  ARMY  CHAPLAIN 


BY  H.  CLAY  TRUMBULL 

Formerly  Chaplain  of  the  Tenth  Regiment  of  Connecticut  Volunteers, 
later  Chaplain  of  the  Society  of  the  Army  of  the  James,  Chaplain  of 
the  Department  of  Connecticut  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Repub 
lic,  Chaplain  of  the  Massachusetts  Commandery  and  of  the 
Pennsylvania  Commandery  of   the  Military  Order  of  the 
Loyal  Legion  of   the  United  States,  and   Chaplain-in- 
Chief  of  the  Commandery-in-Chief  of  the  Military 
Order  of  the  Loyal  Legion  of  the  United  States 


ILLUSTRATED 


NEW  , 

CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 
1898 


Copyright,  1898, 


H.  CLAY  TRUMBULL. 


PREFACE 


Many  books  about  the  American  Civil  War  have 
been  written  to  show  the  movements  of  the  armies 
and  the  characteristics  of  personal  commanders. 
Little,  however,  has  been  written  to  show  the 
thoughts  and  feelings  of  the  soldier  in  active  army 
service.  The  standpoint  of  a  regimental  chaplain 
gives  him  the  opportunity  to  speak  on  this  subject 
with  peculiar  acquaintance  and  sympathy. 

Archbishop  Ireland  of  St.  Paul,  who  was  chap 
lain  of  the  Fifth  Minnesota  Regiment  in  that  war, 
writing  on  this  subject  to  the  author  of  this  vol 
ume,  says  :  "  The  point  that  you  intend  treating 
is  new,  and  will  reveal  the  real  spirit  of  our  armies 
more  than  descriptions  of  battles  and  military  move 
ments.  As  I  know,  a  chaplain  can  write  much 
better  than  any  one  else  about  the  inner  spirit  of 
armies." 

Missiles  of  destruction,  means  of  defense,  and 
modes  of  warfare,  change  from  generation  to  gen 
eration  ;  but  emotions  of  the  heart  and  influences 
that  affect  these  in  times  of  peril  and  of  privation, 
of  joy  and  of  sorrow,  of  hope  and  of  fear,  are  ever 
the  same,  while  the  human  heart  is  human,  and  the 
sources  of  strength  and  of  weakness  are  as  they  are. 

v 


220890 


vi  Preface 

In  the  belief  that  there  are  lessons  out  of  the  sol 
dier  experiences  and  emotions  of  a  former  genera 
tion  for  those  who  are  called  to  soldier  service  in 
the  present  day,  these  pages  are  submitted  by  one 
whose  memories  of  army  chaplain  service  will  be 
fresh  and  vivid  while  life  remains. 


This  entire  work,  including  the  foregoing  Preface, 
was  written  and  in  type  before  the  actual  begin 
ning  of  our  speedily  ended  war  with  Spain,  but 
the  Publishers  deemed  it  inexpedient  to  issue  the 
volume  at  that  season  of  the  year.  This  explana 
tion  will  account  for  the  absence  of  any  mention  of 
corroborative  incidents  out  of  that  war.  Chapters 
of  old-time  experiences  like  these  have,  however,  a 
value  apart  from  the  question  of  their  timeliness. 
Their  fitness  is  for  days  of  war  or  of  peace — our 
days  or  the  days  of  others. 

H.  C.  T. 


PHILADELPHIA, 

September,  1898. 


CONTENTS 


i 

PLACE  AND  WORK  OF  A  REGIMENTAL  CHAPLAIN    .        i 

II 
ARMY  CHAPELS  AND  RELIGIOUS  SERVICES       .        .      15 

III 
DISCLOSURES  OF  THE  SOLDIER  HEART    ...       39 

IV 
A  CHAPLAIN'  s  SERMONS          .....      65 

V 

A  CHAPLAIN'  s  PASTORAL  WORK     .        ,        .       .105 

VI 

INFLUENCE  OF  THE  HOME  MAIL    .        .        »       «     133 

VII 
DEVOTION  TO  THE  FLAG 153 

VIII 

DESERTERS  AND  DESERTIONS          .        ,        ,        .     177 

vii 


viii  Contents 


IX 
SOLDIER  GRAVES  AND  SOLDIER  BURIALS        .        .     203 

X 

UNDER  A  FLAG  OF  TRUCE  .        .        .        .    233 

XI 
PRISON  EXPERIENCES      •        •        .        .        •        -253 

XII 
GLIMPSES  OF  GENERAL  GRANT       ....     305 

XIII 

LlNKINGS  WITH  THE   NAVY        ....  *      335 

XIV 

SEEING  SLAVERY  AND  EMANCIPATION      »        .       ,     367 


INDEX 413 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 

Selected  and  arranged  under  the  supervision  of  Mr.  William  Martin  Johnson. 


Army  Chapel  before  Richmond         .         .          Frontispiece 

colors  and  our  Connecticut  state  ensig 
pulpit  when  the  chaplain  conducted  ser 

From  ferrotype  taken  at  the  time. 


Our  national  colors  and  our  Connecticut  state  ensign  were  stacked 
behind  the  pulpit  when  the  chaplain  conducted  service  at  it." 


OpposUt  page 

Evening  Service  on  Deck  of  Cahawba       ...       24 

"  In  the  evening  I  led  a  prayer-meeting  on  the  crowded  deck." 
By  I.  W.  Taber. 

Man  Overboard  in  Port  Royal  Harbor       ...       42 

"  '  Stop  that  steamer  1 '  shouted  our  colonel.     '  You've  lost  a  man  1 '  " 
By  Carlton  T.  Chapman. 

Service  in  Woods  on  New  Market  Road    ...       90 

"  In  the  drizzling  rain  of  a  wintry  Sunday  morning." 
By  Gilbert  Gaul. 

In  the  Yankee  Hospital,  Charleston  .         .         .128 

"  As  I  rose  from  my  knees  I  saw  that  we  were  not  alone." 
By  Alice  Barber  Stephens. 

Distribution  of  Home  Mail  in  Libby  Prison       .         .     144 

"  With  outreached  hand,  as  though  he  would  clutch  the  letter  instantly, 
he  called  aloud,  '  Here  !  here  !  here  1 '  " 

By  I.  W.  Taber 


Carrying  Colors  aboard  Transport  at  St.  Augustine     .      160 

d  reverent  mien,  as  the 
th  of  the  extended  pier  t 

By  R.  F.  Zogbaum. 


"With  bared  heads  and  reverent  mien,  as  the  colors  and  the  guard 
moved  down  the  length  of  the  extended  pier  to  the  waiting  vessel.'" 


IX 


List  of  Illustrations 


Opposite  fage 

Execution  of  Deserter  at  Deep  Bottom       .         .         .182 

"  The  firing  party  took  position  in  front  of  him  a  dozen  paces  distant." 
By  Gilbert  Gaul. 


Burials  at  Fort  Wagner 210 

on  soldiers  were  dead  on 
,  and  in  the  ditch  before 

By  A.  C.  Redwood. 


"  Hundreds  of  Union  soldiers  were  dead  on  the  parapet  of  the 
fort,  and  in  the  ditch  before  it." 


Flag 'of  Truce  on  Kinston  Road         ....     244 

"  1  put  myself  under  the  Confederate  cavalry  escort." 
By  Gilbert  Gaul. 

Morning  Scene  at  Columbia  Jail       ....     278 

"  Some  of  us  would  arrest  his  attention  while  she  passed  over  the  paper." 
By  R.  F.  Zogbaum. 

General  Grant  on  New  Market  Road          .         .         .     308 

"  '  There's  only  one  man  in  this  army  who  wears  three  stars.'  " 
By  T.  de  Thulstrup. 

Bombardment  of  Fort  Sumter 364 

"  A  huge  shot  from  the  fort  struck  the  iron  pilot-house  in  which  he  stood." 
By  R.  F.  Zogbaum. 

Colored  Servants  Studying  at  Night  ....     382 

"  These  boys  were  poring  over  their  treasured  books." 
By  C.  D.  \Veldon. 


CHAPTER  I 

PLACE   AND   WORK    OF   A    REGIMENTAL   CHAPLAIN 

When  our  Civil  War  broke  out,  in  1861,  but 
little  was  known  about  regimental  chaplains.  Our 
regular  army  was  hardly  more  than  a  skeleton 
organization.  A  regiment  was  rarely  all  in  one 
place.  Small  battalions  were  doing  garrison  duty, 
or  were  on  outpost  service.  There  were  post 
chaplains  at  various  stations  where  military  needs 
required  the  gathering  of  soldiers,  but  a  regi 
mental  chaplain  was  so  little  called  for  that  his 
position  and  duties  were  hardly  known. 

The  standard  military  dictionary  of  that  time  de 
fined  "  a  chaplain  "  as  "  a  commissioned  officer  or 
clergyman  who  performs  divine  service."  Accord 
ing  to  army  regulations  a  chaplain  was  entitled  to 
the  pay  and  rations  of  a  captain  of  cavalry ;  but 
that  provision  did  not  indicate  his  rank,  his  sphere, 
or  his  duties.  The  only  specific  utterance  on  this 
point  in  the  Articles  of  War  was,  that  a  chaplain 
could  be  courtmartialed  "  like  any  other  officer," 
in  case  of  a  misdemeanor. 

With  the  formation  of  the  great  volunteer  army 
of  the  United  States,  the  regimental  chaplaincy 


^i  :  War- 'Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

sprang  into  prominence.  In  the  lack  of  specific 
regulations  as  to  the  rank,  uniform,  and  duties  of  a 
chaplain,  great  variety  in  these  particulars  naturally 
showed  itself.  Many  new  chaplains  adopted  the 
ordinary  uniform  of  a  captain  of  cavalry,  with  the 
shoulder-straps,  sash,  and  sword  included.  In  a 
number  of  instances  the  position  was  given  to  an 
irreligious  layman,  as  a  mere  matter  of  favor  to  a 
friend  of  the  regimental  commander.  Soon,  how 
ever,  Congressional  enactments  measurably  righted 
these  incongruities.  It  was  required  that  a  chap 
lain  be  a  duly  authorized  clergyman  of  a  religious 
denomination ;  that  his  rank  should  be  that  of 
"  chaplain,  without  command  ;  "  and  that  he  should 
be  borne  on  the  field  and  staff  rolls  next  after  the 
surgeon,  who  ranked  as  a  major. 

It  was  still,  however,  an  open  question  as  to  what 
precise  service  a  regimental  chaplain  could  perform 
to  best  advantage,  and  who  was  best  fitted  for  that 
service.  There  were  many  applicants  for  this  posi 
tion  who  were  duly  authorized  clergymen,  yet  who 
were  not  in  demand  in  parishes  where  they  were 
familiarly  known,  and  who  did  not  make  good 
chaplains  when  appointed.  There  were  others  who 
were  well  fitted  for  excellent  work  in  pulpit  and 
parish  at  home,  who  were  poorly  fitted  by  their 
experience  and  training  for  the  peculiar  demands 
of  army  life  in  camp  and  campaigning.  Yet  others 
were  eminently  adapted,  or  quickly  adapted  them 
selves,  to  the  new  state  of  things  which  the  army 


Place  and  Work  of  a  Chaplain  3 

life  opened  up  during  our  Civil  War,  and  they 
became  representative  regimental  chaplains.  There 
was  a  place  and  a  work  for  these  men,  and  they 
found  and  filled  it. 

The  position  of  a  regimental  chaplain  was  unique. 
He  was  a  commissioned  officer,  yet  without  com 
mand.  No  question  of  relative  rank  brought  him 
into  rivalry  with  any  other  officer.  He  could  be 
welcomed  alike  by  a  major-general  or  by  a  second 
lieutenant  without  the  fear  of  any  seeming  incon 
gruity  of  association,  if  only  he  had  the  power  of 
making  himself  personally  or  socially  agreeable  or 
useful.  Yet  he  could  be  among  the  enlisted  men 
as  one  entirely  with  them  in  sympathy,  without  any 
thought  on  the  part  of  either  that  he  was  stepping 
out  of  his  sphere  or  crossing  the  line  which  divided 
commissioned  officers  as  a  class  from  enlisted  men 
as  a  class. 

In  this  a  chaplain  had  a  position  utterly  unlike 
any  other  person  in  the  army ;  and  it  was  his  own 
fault  if  he  did  not  avail  himself  of  it,  and  improve 
its  advantages.  Any  other  commissioned  officer 
in  the  army  was  shut  off  from  being  entirely  free 
with  an  officer  of  a  higher  or  of  a  lower  rank  than 
his  own;  and  the  line  that  separated  officers  and 
enlisted  men  in  the  army  was  so  positive  and  real 
as  to  admit  of  little  communication  between  them 
except  in  positive  duty.  Hence  an  officer  of  any 
grade  was  glad  to  meet  in  his  army  life  one  person 
to  whom  he  could  speak  with  entire  freedom,  if  his 


4  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

chaplain  had  the  qualities  and  experience  to  fit  him 
for  such  fellowship.  And  the  enlisted  men  could 
have  no  such  communication  with  the  supposed 
upper  world  of  officerdom  as  was  secured  to  them 
by  a  sympathetic  and  tactful  chaplain. 

Our  soldiers  —  commissioned  officers  and  en 
listed  men — were  as  a  class  reverent.  Men  who 
took  their  lives  in  their  hands,  and  who  faced  death 
in  their  ordinary  work,  were  glad  to  have  one  who 
in  any  sense  stood  as  God's  representative,  pray  in 
their  behalf  and  invoke  God's  blessing  on  them. 
Sick,  wounded,  or  dying,  soldiers  welcomed  the 
loving  ministry  of  a  chaplain.  Soldiers  were  glad 
when  words  of  prayer,  and  other  timely  services, 
were  spoken  above  the  grave  of  a  dead  comrade. 

Every  soldier  was  human,  and  because  he  was 
human  he  welcomed  human  sympathy.  Away  from 
home  and  friends,  he  was  glad  to  have  a  chaplain 
show  an  interest  in  him  and  his  dear  ones,  and  to 
invite  his  confidence  concerning  matters  that  most 
deeply  affected  himself  personally.  If  the  chaplain 
came  to  his  tent,  the  soldier  loved  to  show  him  his 
home  photographs,  and  to  tell  him  of  his  latest 
home  letters. 

Preaching  to  soldiers,  in  camp  and  garrison  and 
field,  was  a  phase  of  the  chaplain's  duties  and  ser 
vice  that  enabled  him  to  get  a  hold  upon  the  man's 
respect  and  sympathies ;  and  the  pastoral  work 
among  the  men  at  all  times,  in  their  tents,  and  as 
they  marched  and  rested,  was  a  yet  more  potent 


Place  and  Work  of  a  Chaplain  5 

means  of  a  chaplain's  power  over  their  hearts  for 
good.  The  more  he  did  for  them  wisely,  the  more 
he  could  do,  and  the  more  they  loved  and  trusted 
him  accordingly. 

There  were  times  when  the  very  presence  of  the 
chaplain  with  his  regiment  on  the  eve  of  battle,  or 
while  already  under  fire,  was  inspiriting  to  officers 
and  men,  who  were  encouraged  to  feel  that  they 
had  God's  blessing  while  one  of  God's  representa 
tives  was  immediately  with  them.  Said  a  brave 
but  rough  officer  in  a  New  England  regiment,  with 
reference  to  this  influence  over  the  soldiers  as 
soldiers,  "  We  count  our  chaplain  as  good  as  a 
hundred  men  in  a  fight."  That  particular  officer 
seemed,  in  his  conduct,  to  care  little  for  the  chap 
lain  as  a  public  teacher  of  morals,  or  as  setting  a 
Christian  example,  but  he  did  value  his  inspiring 
power  over  the  men  in  the  discharge  of  their  duty 
as  brave  and  faithful  soldiers. 

A  notable  illustration  of  the  opportunity  and 
power  of  a  good  regimental  chaplain  in  the  face  of 
the  enemy  is  furnished  in  the  memorable  service 
of  Chaplain  William  Corby,  of  the  Eighty-eighth 
New  York  Regiment,  during  the  battle  of  Gettys 
burg.  It  was  toward  the  close  of  the  first  day  of 
that  crisis  conflict,  while  the  Third  Corps  was  being 
driven  back,  and  the  roar  of  battle  was  sounding 
on  every  side,  that  General  Hancock  called  on 
General  Caldwell  to  have  his  division  ready  to 
move  into  action.  The  Irish  Brigade,  under  Gene- 


War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


ral  Thomas  Meagher,  stood  in  column  of  regiments, 
closed  in  mass,  awaiting  the  order  to  move  forward. 
It  was  in  that  testing  moment,  of  which  the  bravest 
soldier  feels  the  oppressive  solemnity,  that  Chap 
lain  Corby  proposed  to  give  absolution  to  all  the 
men  before  going  into  the  fight.  Most  of  the  men 
in  that  brigade  were  Catholics,  and  those  who  were 
not  were  glad  to  share  reverently  in  the  benefits  of 
the  service.  General  St.  Clair  Mulholland,  then  a 
colonel  in  that  brigade,  has  told  of  that  service,  and 
Father  Corby,  just  before  his  death,  in  1897,  at 
tested  the  accuracy  of  this  narrative. 

"  Father  Corby  stood  on  a  large  rock  in  front  of 
the  brigade.  Addressing  the  men,  he  explained 
what  he  was  about  to  do,  saying  that  each  one 
could  receive  the  benefit  of  the  absolution  by 
making  a  sincere  Act  of  Contrition  and  firmly  re 
solving  to  embrace  the  first  opportunity  of  confess 
ing  his  sins,  urging  them  to  do  their  duty,  and 
reminding  them  of  the  high  and  sacred  nature  of 
their  trust  as  soldiers,  and  the  noble  object  for 
which  they  fought.  .  .  The  brigade  was  standing 
at (  Order  arms ! '  As  he  closed  his  address,  every 
man,  Catholic  and  non-Catholic,  fell  on  his  knees, 
with  his  head  bowed  down.  Then,  stretching  his 
right  hand  toward  the  brigade,  Father  Corby  pro 
nounced  the  words  of  the  absolution  : 

"  '  Dominus  noster  Jesus  Christus  vos  absolvat, 
et  ego,  auctoritate  ipsius,  vos  absolvo  ab  omni  vin- 
culo,  excommunicationis  interdicti,  in  quantum 


Place  and  Work  of  a  Chaplain  7 

possum  et  vos  indigetis  deinde  ego  absolve  vos,  a 
peccatis  vestris,  in  nomine  Patris,  et  Filii,  et  Spiritus 
Sancti,  Amen.' 

"  The  scene  was  more  than  impressive — it  was 
awe-inspiring.  Near  by  stood  a  brilliant  throng  of 
officers  who  had  gathered  to  witness  this  very 
unusual  occurrence,  and  while  there  was  profound 
silence  in  the  ranks  of  the  Second  Corps,  yet  over 
to  the  left,  out  by  the  peach  orchard  and  Little 
Round  Top,  where  Weed  and  Vincent  and  Hazlitt 
were  dying,  the  roar  of  the  battle  rose  and  swelled 
and  re-echoed  through  the  woods,  making  music 
more  sublime  than  ever  sounded  through  cathedral 
aisle.  The  act  seemed  to  be  in  harmony  with  the 
surroundings.  I  do  not  think  there  was  a  man  in 
the  brigade  who  did  not  offer  up  a  heartfelt  prayer. 
For  some  it  was  their  last ;  they  knelt  there  in  their 
grave-clothes.  In  less  than  half  an  hour  many  of 
them  were  numbered  with  the  dead  of  July  2. 
Who  can  doubt  that  their  prayers  were  good  ? 
What  was  wanting  in  the  eloquence  of  the  priest 
to  move  them  to  repentance  was  supplied  in  the 
incidents  of  the  fight.  That  heart  would  be  incor 
rigible  indeed  that  the  scream  of  a  Whitworth  bolt, 
added  to  Father  Corby's  touching  appeal,  would 
not  move  to  contrition." 

Father  Corby  said  of  this  scene : 

"  In  performing  this  ceremony  I  faced  the  army. 
My  eye  covered  thousands  of  officers  and  men.  I 
noticed  that  all,  Catholic  and  non-Catholic,  officers, 


8  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  private  soldiers,  showed  a  profound  respect, 
wishing  at  this  fatal  crisis  to  receive  every  benefit 
of  divine  grace  that  could  be  imparted  through  the 
instrumentality  of  the  Church  ministry.  Even 
Major-General  Hancock  removed  his  hat,  and,  as 
far  as  compatible  with  the  situation,  bowed  in 
reverential  devotion." 

Who  can  doubt  that  the  men  of  that  brigade 
fought  the  better  in  that  battle  for  their  chaplain's 
presence  and  service  of  then  ? 

Inevitably,  courage  was  the  standard  in  active 
army  service.  Every  soldier  must  be  ready  to 
meet  danger  or  death,  and,  if  he  failed  in  that 
supreme  test  of  a  soldier  in  time  of  war,  he  was 
every  way  a  failure.  A  chaplain  had  a  duty  to  in 
spire  men  for  their  service  for  their  country.  If  he 
was  himself  a  coward,  or  seemed  unready  to  face  a 
soldier's  perils,  no  words  from  him  could  have 
weight  with  his  men.  His  influence  for  good  was 
destroyed  among  them.  If,  on  the  other  hand,  their 
chaplain  shared  their  dangers  bravely,  his  men 
gave  him  more  than  full  credit  for  his  courage  and 
fidelity,  and  were  the  readier  to  do  their  duty  under 
his  direct  appeals. 

Two  soldiers  were  overheard  speaking  of  the 
chaplain  of  another  regiment  than  their  own,  in 
contrast  with  theirs. 

"  He's  always  on  picket  with  his  regiment,"  they 
said,  "  and  he's  always  ready  to  go  with  it  into  a 
fight.  You  don't  catch  our  '  Holy  John  '  up  there." 


Place  and  Work  of  a  Chaplain  9 

"  You  don't  mean  that  our  chaplain's  a  coward, 
— do  you  ?  "  asked  the  other  in  a  scornful  tone. 

"  Oh,  no  !  I  don't  say  he's  a  coward;  but,  when 
ever  there's  any  firing  ahead,  he  has  to  go  for  the 
mail." 

"Well,  but  he's  got  to  go  for  the  mail,  you 
know." 

"  Yes ;  but,  if  the  firing  is  sudden,  he  can't  stop 
to  get  his  saddle  on." 

And  the  soldiers  laughed  together  over  this  pic 
ture  of  their  frightened  chaplain.  That  chaplain 
could  not  preach  a  soldier's  duty  of  courage  to 
men  who  saw  that  he  gave  way  to  unsoldierly 
cowardice.  But  there  were  many  brave  and 
tender-hearted  regimental  chaplains  in  the  Army 
of  the  Union,  and  in  the  other  army  as  well ;  and 
they  were  loved  and  honored,  and  were  useful 
accordingly. 

In  the  important  volume,  "  Regimental  Losses 
in  the  American  Civil  War,"  compiled  by  Colonel 
William  F.  Fox  from  the  official  records  at  Wash 
ington,  there  is  a  chapter  showing  the  loss  of  officers 
in  action,  from  army  and  corps  commanders  to 
officers  of  the  regimental  staff.  Chaplains  receive 
honorable  mention  in  this  chapter.  "  It  will  doubt 
less  be  a  surprise  to  many,"  says  Colonel  Fox,  "  to 
note  the  number  of  chaplains  killed  in  battle. 
These  gallant  members  of  the  church  militant 
were  wont  to  take  a  more  active  part  in  the  fight 
ing  than  has  been  generally  credited  to  them."  He 


io  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

mentions  the  names  of  eleven  "  among  the  chap 
lains  killed  in  action,"  and  says  that  "  in  addition, 
there  were  several  who  lost  their  lives  by  the  dis 
eases  incident  to  the  hardship  and  exposure  of  a 
soldier's  life." 

Specifying  a  few  as  illustrative  of  the  many,  he 
says  :  "  Chaplain  Arthur  B.  Fuller,  of  the  Six 
teenth  Massachusetts  [a  brother  of  Margaret  Fuller 
Ossoli],  had  resigned  from  the  service,  and  had  just 
received  his  discharge,  when  he  learned  that  his 
regiment  was  about  to  go  into  action  at  Fredericks- 
burg.  Crossing  the  river  in  the  boats  with  the  for 
lorn  hope,  he  joined  the  skirmishers  of  the  Nine 
teenth  Massachusetts,  who  were  then  fighting  their 
way  through  the  streets.  He  fell  dead,  rifle  in  hand, 
in  front  of  a  grocery  store  on  Caroline  Street." 
Chaplain  Frank  Butler  of  the  Twenty -fifth  New 
Jersey  "  was  killed  at  the  siege  of  Suffolk,  while 
carrying  water  to  some  wounded  men."  He  was 
characterized  as  "  a  noble  fellow." 

Chaplain  Orlando  N.  Benton,  of  the  Fifty-first 
New  York,  fell  at  New  Berne,  and  General  Reno 
states,  in  his  official  report,  that  he  "  was  killed 
while  nobly  encouraging  the  men  to  do  their  duty." 
Of  Chaplain  Thomas  L.  Ambrose  of  the  Twelfth 
New  Hampshire,  "  killed  in  the  trenches  at  Peters 
burg,"  it  was  declared  that  "a  braver  man  never 
lived  ;  a  truer  man  never  wore  the  garb  of 
Christianity." 

As  showing  that  the  courage  and  efficiency  of 


Place  and  Work  of  a  Chaplain         1 1 

regimental  chaplains  were  not  confined  to  one  side 
of  the  line,  Colonel  Fox  mentions  that  "  at  Resaca 
among  the  Confederate  dead  which  lay  so  thickly 
in  front  of  the  Twenty-seventh  Indiana,  was  a  family 
group :  a  gray-haired  chaplain  and  his  two  sons." 

Official  reports  of  battles,  from  commanders  of 
regiments  and  brigades  and  from  those  of  higher 
rank,  as  well  as  the  various  state  histories  of  the 
war,  bear  ample  public  testimony  to  the  courage, 
efficiency,  and  faithfulness  of  regimental  chaplains 
who  fell  in  battle,  or  who  wore  out  their  lives  in 
ministry  to  soldiers.  Nor  were  those  who  died 
during  the  war  the  only  chaplains  who  won  honor, 
or  who  deserved  it.  Many  a  chaplain  who  did 
good  service  then  has  shown  in  other  prominent 
spheres  since  then  that  he  was  of  the  sort  to  serve 
faithfully  his  fellows,  his  country,  and  his  God, 
wherever  his  lot  was  cast 

From  among  the  large  number  of  those  who 
could  be  included  in  such  a  list,  it  is  sufficient  to 
mention  a  few  representative  regimental  chaplains, 
of  different  denominations,  in  different  parts  of  the 
country,  who  have  exhibited  marked  ability  and 
efficiency  as  prelates,  pastors,  college  presidents 
or  professors,  editors,  or  in  other  public  spheres. 

Archbishop  John  Ireland  of  St.  Paul,  so  eminent 
for  his  loyalty  to  American  institutions  and  his 
zeal  in  promoting  good  citizenship  and  public 
harmony ;  General  John  Eaton,  superintendent  of 
freedmen,  United  States  Commissioner  of  Educa- 


1 2  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplahi 

tion,  president  of  Marietta  College,  editor,  and 
author;  Bishop  Lawrence  McMahon  of  Hartford, 
loved  and  honored  in  his  strong  diocese;  Bishop 
C.  C.  McCabe,  now  of  Texas,  efficient  pastor,  church 
builder,  missionary  secretary,  and  general  Chris 
tian  worker  ;  President  H.  L.  Wayland,  formerly  of 
Kalamazoo  College,  Michigan,  now  of  Philadel 
phia,  teacher,  pastor,  and  editor;  President  H.  S. 
DeForest,  instructor  in  Yale,  pastor  in  Iowa,  and 
then  at  the  head  of  Talladega  College,  Alabama  ; 
Very  Rev.  William  Corby,  for  a  time  president  of 
the  University  of  Notre  Dame,  Indiana,  and  after 
wards  provincial  general  for  the  United  States,  of 
the  Order  of  the  Holy  Cross;  and  Dr.  Albert 
Zabriskie  Gay,  warden  of  Racine  College,  Wiscon 
sin,  after  several  successful  rectorships. 

Also  Professor  John  Henry  Thayer  of  Andover 
Theological  Seminary  and  of  Harvard  University ; 
Professor  M.  B.  Riddle  of  Hartford  Theological 
Seminary,  and  of  Western  Theological  Seminary ; 
Professor  Norman  Fox  of  William  Jewell  College, 
editor  and  pastor;  Archdeacon  C.  C.  Tiffany  of  the 
influential  diocese  of  New  York  ;  Dr.  Samuel  J. 
Nicolls  of  St.  Louis,  moderator  of  the  Presbyterian 
General  Assembly;  Dr.  Arthur  Edwards  of  Chicago, 
editor  of  the  North  Western  Christian  Advocate ;  Dr. 
J.T.  Gibson,  editor  of  the  Presbyterian  Messenger; 
Dr.  J.  A.  Worden,  superintendent  of  the  Sunday- 
school  department  of  the  Presbyterian  Church  ;  Dr. 
Frederick  H.  Wines,  prominent  in  connection  with 


Place  and  Work  of  a  Chaplain         13 

organized  charities  in  Illinois  and  the  country  at 
large ;  Dr.  B.  H.  Agnew  of  Pittsburg  and  Philadel 
phia,  now  secretary  of  the  Board  of  Ministerial  Re 
lief  in  the  Presbyterian  Church  ;  and  Dr.  George  H. 
Hepworth  of  Boston  and  New  York,  pastor,  editor, 
and  world-wide  special  correspondent. 

In  the  great  constellation  of  prominent  pastors 
before  and  after  their  chaplain  service  there  were 
the  Rev.  Drs.  A.  L.  Stone  of  Boston  and  San 
Francisco,  J.  M.  Manning  of  Boston,  A.  H.  Quint 
of  New  Bedford,  Horace  James  of  Worcester  and 
Greenwich,  Henry  C.  McCook  of  St.  Louis  and 
Philadelphia,  Augustus  Woodbury  of  Providence, 
Joseph  H.  Twichell  of  Hartford;  J.  C.  Kimball  of 
Massachusetts,  Oregon,  and  Connecticut;  Henry 
Hopkins  of  Massachusetts  and  Missouri  ;  Moses 
Smith  of  Connecticut  and  Michigan  ;  A.  L.  Frisbie 
of  Connecticut  and  Iowa ;  Edward  B.  Willson  of 
Salem;  George  Wilson  Chalfant  of  Pittsburg;  G.W. 
Collier  of  Ohio ;  Edward  H.  Hall  of  Cambridge ; 
"  Father  Leo,"  of  Winsted,  the  loved  Franciscan 
leader ;  John  H.  Moors,  whom  the  Unitarians  called 
"  Bishop  of  Western  Massachusetts ;  "  Frederic 
Denison  of  Rhode  Island ;  Hiram  Eddy,  taken 
prisoner  at  Bull  Run,  and  fresh  in  his  Master's 
service  at  fourscore  ;  and  Charles  Babbidge,  who 
was  with  the  Sixth  Massachusetts  in  the  streets  of 
Baltimore,  the  first  Harvard  graduate  having  a 
commission  in  the  war,  and  who  was  still  stalwart 
at  more  than  ninety  years  of  age. 


14  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

And  what  shall  I  say  more  ?'  for  time  will  fail  me. 
Their  names  are  written  on  high,  and  ought  to  be 
borne  in  mind  below  as  competent  and  worthy, 
bearing  well  their  part  as  chaplains  and  as  citizens, 
faithfully  serving  their  God  and  their  country. 

On  the  Confederate  side  there  might  be  shown  a 
corresponding  record  of  faithful  regimental  chap 
lains.  There  were  those  who  fell  in  battle,  coura 
geous  at  their  posts,  and  there  were  those  who  died 
in  service,  worn  out  in  loving  work  for  needy  soldiers. 
There  were  those  who  survived  the  war,  coming  to 
fresh  prominence  as  bishops,  and  college  presidents, 
and  editors,  and  pastors,  and  workers  generally. 
While  I  was  a  prisoner  of  war,  there  were 'some 
fourscore  Federal  chaplains  in  Libby  Prison  at  one 
time;  and  nearly  the  same  number  of  Confederate 
chaplains  were  held  in  Northern  war  prisons. 

With  the  sphere  and  duties  of  the  regimental 
chaplain  as  they  were,  he  had  an  opportunity  of 
observing  phases  of  army  service  unfamiliar  to 
other  volunteer  officers,  and  some  of  his  observa 
tions  are  essential  to  a  complete  view  of  the  Civil 
War.  Others  have  had  much  to  say  of  the  plans  and 
movements  of  commanders.  Comparatively  little 
has  been  said  of  the  spirit  and  emotions  of  the  sol 
diers  as  soldiers.  We  know  more  of  the  strategy 
of  the  generals  than  of  the  human  side  of  the  rank 
and  file  in  our  armies.  Hence  an  attempt  to  show 
these  would  seem  to  be  justified. 


CHAPTER  II 

ARMY   CHAPELS   AND   RELIGIOUS   SERVICES 

The  regimental  chaplain  in  active  service  did  not 
always  have  a  building,  or  a  tent,  in  which  to  con 
duct  religious  services  ;  neither  did  he  always  have 
to  preach,  or  to  conduct  prayers,  in  the  open  air. 
It  was  sometimes  one  thing  and  sometimes  another ; 
and  this  very  variety  gave  an  added  attractiveness 
and  zest  to  the  chaplain's  ministry  and  work,  in 
the  gatherings  of  his  men  for  their  instruction  and 
influence. 

The  first  service  which  I  conducted  as  a  chaplain 
was  just  before  I  joined  my  regiment  in  the  field. 
It  was  in  the  rendezvous  camp  of  a  new  regiment 
at  Hartford.  Both  regiment  and  chaplain  were  raw 
as  to  service.  A  small  table  had  been  borrowed 
from  a  neighboring  house,  and  set  in  the  open  air 
on  the  parade-ground,  as  a  reading-desk  for  me. 
A  flag  was  thrown  over  it.  On  this  rested  a  large 
Bible  and  a  hymn-book.  As  I  took  my  place  be 
hind  it,  in  the  presence  of  the  assembled  regiment, 
I  saw  that  an  open  pack  of  cards  was  on  the  Bible, 
as  if  in  mischievous  desire  to  test  the  new  chaplain. 
Without  being  disturbed  or  annoyed,  I  quietly 

15 


1 6  War  Memories  of  a  CJiaplain 

gathered  up  the  cards,  and  put  them  out  of  sight, 
saying  in  a  low  tone  to  the  colonel,  who  stood  at 
my  side,  "  Hearts  are  trumps  to-day,  and  I've  a  full 
hand" 

A  group  of  singers  from  the  enlisted  men  was 
ready  to  lead  in  the  singing,  and  all  were  reverent 
in  the  hour  of  worship.  As  I  addressed  the  regi 
ment  from  the  words  of  Jesus  to  the  son  of  the 
widow  of  Nain,  "  Young  man,  I  say  unto  thee, 
Arise,"  I  felt  that  the  Master  himself  was  mak 
ing  the  same  call  to  every  one  of  us  that  day.  I 
felt,  even  then,  that  it  would  be  easy  to  find  a 
chapel  and  a  pulpit  in  army  service  anywhere ; 
and  I  was  more  and  more  firm  .in  this  belief  as 
time  went  on. 

My  next  formal  service  as  a  chaplain  was  in  the 
small,  close  cabin  of  a  rolling  propeller  off  Cape 
Hatteras,  on  my  way  to  my  regiment  in  New  Berne, 
North  Carolina.  It  was  on  a  Sunday  morning.  My 
congregation  was  of  officers  and  men  from  different 
regiments,  on  their  way  to  their  several  commands. 
Yet  we  could  feel  that  God  was  as  truly  there,  and 
could  be  as  truly  worshiped,  as  in  Solomon's  Tem 
ple  or  in  Westminster  Abbey. 

When  I  reached  my  regiment,  I  found  there  a 
large  and  commodious  chapel-tent,  sent  from  Con 
necticut  as  a  gift  of  the  unique  and  efficient  "  Chap 
lains'  Aid  Commission"  in  that  state.  That  tent 
could  cover  several  hundred  people,  and  it  was  in 
every  way  suitable  for  its  purpose.  We  enjoyed 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  i  7 

its  use  on  Sundays  and  week-day  evenings  as  long 
as  we  were  within  its  reach.  Our  regimental  band 
gave  us  appropriate  instrumental  music,  and  we 
had  good  leaders  for  our  congregational  singing. 
One  Sunday  afternoon  there  was  an  army  com 
munion  service  in  the  New  Berne  Presbyterian 
Church,  which  had  been  deserted  by  both  pastor 
and  people.  Three  regimental  chaplains  officiated 
at  the  service.  A  cavalryman  played  the  organ. 
Soldiers — officers  and  men — made  up  the  congre 
gation.  Two  enlisted  men,  in  their  uniforms, 
served  as  elders,  or  deacons,  in  the  distribution  of 
the  elements.  There  could  be  no  doubt  that  all  be 
longed  to  the  church  militant.  It  was  an  impres 
sive  and  memorable  service.  The  familiar  hymn, 

"  Soldiers  of  Christ,  arise, 
And  put  your  armor  on," 

had  peculiar  appropriateness  there,  as  then  sung. 

When  on  my  first  scout,  of  two  weeks,  with  the 
regiment,  having  no  tents  with  us,  and  not  stopping 
at  any  place  long  enough  to  build  booths,  we  could 
secure  a  wayside  religious  service  only  by  holding 
it  in  the  evening  under  the  trees,  in  the  light  of  a 
blazing  camp-fire.  Yet  as  I  stood  in  such  a  group, 
reading  my  little  Bible  as  the  basis  of  a  practical 
talk  to  them,  while  officers  and  men,  just  out  of 
one  fight  and  expecting  another,  stood  or  sat  with 
upturned  earnest  faces,  I  felt  that  I  had  never  before 
known  what  it  was  to  be  able  to  find  God  every- 


l8  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

where,  and  to  point  out  to  others  the  signs  of  his 
sure  presence. 

My  talk,  that  evening,  was  from  the  words  of  the 
loving  Jesus  in  Luke  12  :  4,  5  :  "And  I  say  unto 
you  my  friends,  Be  not  afraid  of  them  that  kill  the 
body,  and  after  that  have  no  more  that  they  can  do. 
But  I  will  forewarn  you  whom  ye  shall  fear :  Fear 
him,  which  after  he  hath  killed  hath  power  to  cast 
into  hell ;  yea,  I  say  unto  you,  Fear  him."  These 
words  were  pressed  because  of  the  comfort  in  them, 
not  as  words  of  alarm  as  to  the  present  or  the  future. 
We  need  have  no  fear  of  any  enemy  unless  he  is 
also  God's  enemy.  If  we  are  at  peace  with  God, 
and  in  right  relation  to  him,  we  can  defy  the  uni 
verse  and  be  sure  of  spiritual  victory. 

The  battle  of  Kinston  was  on  a  Sunday  morning. 
The  enemy  was  stationed  on  either  side  of,  and 
behind,  a  little  church,  or  chapel,  on  the  west  bank 
of  the  Neuse  River.  In  obeying  an  order  to  ad 
vance  and  drive  the  enemy  from  that  position,  our 
regiment  lost  more  than  one-fourth  of  all  its  officers 
and  men  in  line  that  day.  It  was  remarked,  with 
grim  humor,  that  it  was  hard  work  "  going  to 
church  "  that  morning ;  yet  there  was  service  for 
all,  and  no  mistake. 

In  January,  1863,  our  division  was  ordered  to 
take  transports,  leaving  our  horses,  our  heavier 
baggage,  and  our  larger  tents  behind.  We  ex 
pected  to  be  back  at  our  old  camp  within  two  or 
three  weeks  at  the  longest.  We  never  returned  to 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  19 

that  place.  We  were  landed  on  St.  Helena  Island, 
opposite  Port  Royal,  South  Carolina,  and  remained 
there  for  weeks.  From  that  point  we  went  to  Sea- 
brook  Island,  in  North  Edisto  Inlet,  to  have  a  part 
in  the  siege  of  Charleston. 

It  was  surprising  how  quickly  old  soldiers  could 
make  themselves  comfortable  in  such  circumstances. 
Our  pioneers  (enlisted  men  detailed  for  making 
roads,  building  temporary  bridges,  and  doing  gene 
ral  constructive,  or  destructive,  carpenter  work) 
soon  after  our  landing  at  St.  Helena  Island  had  a 
very  large  rustic  open  chapel,  or  chapel -booth, 
made  of  posts  and  poles,  with  pine  branches  inter 
woven,  set  up  at  one  side  of  the  camp,  with  seats  in 
it  made  of  double  poles  supported  on  small  posts, 
or  legs.  A  cracker-box,  turned  over  at  a  bevel, 
on  a  tree-trunk,  and  covered  with  pine  branches, 
served  for  a  pulpit  or  reading-desk.  Every  Sun 
day  morning  this  was  draped  with  fresh  and  fra 
grant  yellow  jessamine,  with  its  green  leaves  and 
graceful  vines,  while  the  long  gray  Southern  moss 
aided  to  make  the  place  attractive  to  reverent  wor 
shipers.  If  our  denominational  church -erection 
societies  could  secure  as  delightful  chapels  for  all 
whom  they  desire  to  aid,  they  would  be  eminently 
successful  in  their  good  work. 

Attendance  at  chapel  services  was  entirely  vol 
untary  in  our  regiment.  There  were  regiments 
where  the  commanding  officer  required  attendance 
at  the  church  service  on  Sundays,  or  where  he 


2o  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

ordered  out  the  regiment  for  such  service;  but  I 
preferred  to  have  officers  and  men  entirely  free  to 
attend  or  remain  away  as  they  were  inclined.  Our 
colonel  was  kindly  ready  to  do  as  I  preferred  in 
this  matter ;  and  I  felt  that  the  influence  of  a  chap 
lain  over  the  men  would  be  greater  if  he  sought  to 
gain  a  hold  on  them  by  his  personal  work  among 
them,  and  left  it  to  them  to  come  or  not  to  the 
religious  gatherings  where  he  led  in  worship  and 
addressed  those  present  In  special  cases,  where 
my  commander  desired  to  have  me  address  the 
men  on  a  particular  subject,  of  importance  to  the 
discipline  or  morale  of  the  command,  he  ordered  out 
the  regiment  to  be  preached  to  in  the  chapel ;  but 
that  was  an  exceptional  case. 

In  all  cases  I  had  the  full  support  of  the  officers, 
from  the  colonel  down,  in  my  work  as  a  chaplain. 
The  drum  corps  or  the  colonel's  bugler  sounded 
the  "  church  call  "  at  the  hour  of  service,  and  the 
colonel  and  most  of  the  officers  attended  the  ser 
vices.  A  lieutenant-colonel  who  commanded  the 
regiment  for  a  time  after  my  joining  it,  had  been 
trained  in  the  English  army,  and  was  a  soldier  in 
the  Crimean  War.  Although  not  a  religious  man, 
he  came  to  value  highly  the  influence  of  a  chaplain, 
and  of  religious  services,  on  the  soldiers,  as  soldiers 
and  as  men.  He  wished  me  to  lead  in  prayer  at 
the  close  of  daily  dress  parade,  and  I  was  glad  to 
do  so.  This  was  quite  a  different  matter  from  en 
forced  chapel  attendance.  It  was  a  recognition  of 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  2 1 

the  chaplain's  place  and  work  in  the  regiment  as  a 
regiment ;  and  it  marked  the  regiment's  recognition 
of  God  as  over  all.  Its  influence  proved  beneficial 
and  effective,  in  the  regiment  and  beyond  it. 

In  performing  this  service  I  took  my  place,  in 
chaplain's  uniform,  at  dress  parade,  as  at  reviews, 
next  to  the  surgeon  on  the  right  of  the  line.  With 
the  officers  I  advanced  to  the  front,  at  the  close  of 
parade,  when  we  presented  ourselves  to  the  colonel. 
Instead  of  dismissing  us  at  that  time,  he  said : 
"  Take  your  places,  gentlemen,  for  prayers."  At 
this,  the  line  of  officers  divided  in  the  center,  and 
passed  right  and  left  to  the  rear  of  the  colonel,  and 
faced  toward  the  center  of  the  parade-ground.  The 
orderly  sergeants  of  the  two  right  and  the  two  left 
companies  wheeled  their  companies,  and  brought 
them  into  place,  facing  inward,  as  the  two  sides 
of  a  hollow  square,  of  which  the  remainder  of  the 
regiment  was  the  third  side,  and  the  line  of  officers 
was  the  fourth.  The  chaplain  stepped  forward  and 
took  his  position  at  the  left  of  the  colonel.  As  he 
said,  "  Let  us  pray !  "  the  colonel  and  every  officer 
and  man  in  the  regiment  uncovered  his  head,  and 
stood  in  reverence  during  the  prayer.  While  this 
service  was  somewhat  out  of  the  ordinary  course, 
it  was  impressive,  and  came  to  be  valued  by  the 
regiment.  Officers  from  other  regiments  were  fre 
quently  present  to  look  on,  and  the  effect  of  the 
service  was  good. 

Soldiers,  like  sailors,  are  rarely  scoffers  at  religion, 


22  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

even  though  they  may  be  rough  and  profane.  They 
are  glad  to  have  a  chaplain  pray  for  them,  even 
though  they  do  not  always  pray  for  themselves,  and 
they  are  often  bluntly  reverent.  For  instance,  at  a 
gathering  of  army  officers,  at  a  banquet,  since  the 
war,  a  veteran  general,  standing  at  the  table  near  me 
while  a  chaplain  asked  a  blessing,  quietly  reached 
down  and  took  the  table-knife  from  the  side  of  his 
plate,  at  the  close  of  the  blessing,  and,  bringing  its 
hilt  sharply  to  his  chest,  gave  a  military  salute  with 
it  before  returning  it  to  its  place,  saying  seriously : 
"  I  always  salute  my  Maker."  That  knife  gesture 
was  the  general's  "Amen." 

There  were  a  few  instances  in  our  regiment  in 
which  this  innovation  of  prayers  at  dress  parade 
disturbed  the  consciences  of  enlisted  men,  but  the 
lieutenant-colonel  in  command  quietly  met  these  as 
a  disciplinarian.  A  Catholic  soldier  came  to  him, 
and  said  he  did  not  want  to  remove  his  hat  during 
prayers  by  a  Protestant  chaplain,  for  this  was  a 
matter  of  conscience  with  him.  The  lieutenant- 
colonel's  prompt  and  abrupt  answer  was :  "  I've 
nothing  to  do  with  your  conscience.  You  can 
think  what  you  please.  But  the  chaplain  is  on 
my  staff.  I  call  on  him  for  his  duty.  I  call  on 
you  for  your  duty.  When  the  chaplain  says,  at 
dress  parade,  '  Let  us  pray,'  that  is  my  order  to 
you, '  Take  off  your  hat.'  If  you  don't  take  your 
hat  off,  I'll  take  your  head  off." 

That  settled  the  question  from  a  military  stand- 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  23 

point.  The  soldier's  opinions  and  beliefs  were  left 
unmolested,  but  his  formal  actions  must  conform 
on  parade  to  the  colonel's  orders.  In  such  ways 
the  chaplain's  position  and  work  were  plainly  rec 
ognized  as  a  part  of  the  regimental  service,  and  this 
gave  him  an  advantage  in  his  personal  efforts  to 
win  and  serve  the  men. 

But  such  instances  as  this  were  quite  exceptional ; 
in  the  long  run  there  was  no  practical  hindrance  to 
my  work  as  a  chaplain  as  growing  out  of  the  differ 
ences  between  Catholics  and  Protestants.  My  first 
department  commander,  General  John  G.  Foster, 
was  a  Catholic.  He  gave  hearty  approval  of  my 
work  for  the  men ;  and  I  had  reason  to  be  grateful 
for  his  readiness  to  promote  that  work  by  any 
means  in  his  power.  His  good  wife  was  as  an 
angel  of  mercy  in  the  hospitals  at  New  Berne  after 
the  battle  of  Kinston;  and  our  men  were  never  tired 
of  telling  of  her  kneeling  in  prayer  by  the  bed  of 
one  of  our  wounded  lieutenants,  a  Baptist  Chris 
tian,  as  his  spirit  was  passing  away  in  the  Foster 
General  Hospital.  Major- General  Gillmore,  at  the 
head  of  the  Department  of  the  South,  was  likewise 
a  Catholic ;  as  also  was  Major-General  John  Gibbon, 
commander  of  the  Twenty -fourth  Army  Corps  at 
the  close  of  the  war.  Both  were  ready  at  any  time 
to  aid  me  in  my  chaplain's  work. 

I  was  prompt  to  act  in  securing  the  services  of 
a  priest  in  any  emergency  when  a  soldier  needed 
him;  and  there  was  hardly  a  Catholic  soldier  in 


24  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  regiment  who  did  not  voluntarily  attend  our 
chapel  services  at  one  time  or  another.  All  of 
them  welcomed  my  prayers  by  their  side  when  sick 
in  the  field  hospital,  or  when  lying  wounded  on  the 
field.  On  one  occasion,  on  my  returning  to  the 
regiment  after  a  brief  leave  of  absence,  I  found  a 
veteran  Catholic  soldier  quite  sick  in  his  tent.  As 
I  came  to  his  bedside  he  said  faintly,  with  a  smile : 
"  I'm  glad  to  see  yez,  Misther  Chaplain.  I  thought 
I'd  be  afther  dying  whiles  yez  wus  gone;  and  I 
wanted  yer  riv'rince  to  prepare  me  for  heaven." 

As  the  army  service  of  my  regiment  was  along 
the  Atlantic  coast  from  Virginia  to  Florida,  we 
were  frequently  in  transports  while  moving  from 
one  point  to  another.  This  gave  an  opportunity 
for  religious  services  on  shipboard,  which  were 
welcome  and  impressive  to  both  officers  and  men. 
When  we  moved  from  St.  Helena  Island  to  North 
Edisto  Inlet,  expecting  to  take  an  active  part  in  an 
immediate  attack  on  Charleston,  we  were  crowded 
together,  on  the  steamer  Cahawba,  more  than  eleven 
hundred  strong,  from  our  regiment  and  the  Fifty- 
sixth  New  York.  In  the  evening  I  led  a  prayer- 
meeting,  and  made  an  address,  on  the  crowded  deck^ 
where  all  felt  that  this  might  be  their  last  night  on 
earth.  No  one  objected  to  being  prayed  for  then. 
All  hearts  were  open  to  loving  counsel  at  such 
a  time.  Some  of  those  who  are  still  living  will 
never  forget  that  service  of  prayer  and  song  under 
the  starlit  sky. 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  25 

While  at  Seabrook  Island  I  was  asked  by  Com 
mander  George  W.  Rodgers  of  the  navy  to  con 
duct  a  prayer-meeting  for  his  men  on  the  monitor 
Catskill,  in  the  pilot-house  of  which  he  was  killed, 
soon  after  this,  by  a  shot  from  Fort  Sumter.  This 
service  was  a  novel  experience.  An  iron  monitor 
was  a  suffocating  place  to  be  in,  below  the  deck. 
The  quarters  were  close  and  cramped  at  the  best. 
But  the  sailors  of  the  navy  were  bluff,  hearty,  and 
reverent.  They  listened  with  attention.  They 
joined  in  singing  familiar  hymns  with  a  zest  that 
would  have  gladdened  a  Methodist  congregation 
in  revival  time.  Their  commander  was  with  them 
at  this  service ;  and  their  manner  showed  that  they 
recognized  the  presence  of  their  Great  Commander. 

Taken  prisoner,  under  peculiar  circumstances,  at 
Morris  Island,  I  was  in  new  conditions  as  a  chap 
lain  for  several  months  in  Charleston,  Columbia, 
and  Richmond.  While  ministering  to  our  wounded 
soldiers  in  the  prison  hospital  at  Charleston,  I 
worked  side  by  side  with  the  Sisters  of  Mercy,  and 
our  Christian  co-operation  in  beneficent  efforts  was 
every  way  pleasant.  When  I  found  a  Catholic  sol 
dier,  I  was  glad  to  call  their  attention  to  him,  and 
they,  on  the  other  hand,  would  frequently  come  to 
me,  saying,  "  Chaplain,  here  is  a  Protestant  soldier 
who  would  like  your  ministry."  Bishop  Lynch,  of 
Charleston,  was  frequently  in  the  prison  hospital 
directing  and  aiding  the  Sisters,  and  I  valued  his 
kind  services.  Later,  he  visited  Columbia  Jail  to 


26  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

see  several  of  our  Union  officers  who  were  of  his 
communion ;  and  whenever  I  met  him,  then  or 
after  the  war,  I  had  reason  to  recognize  and  appre 
ciate  his  kind  Christian  courtesy. 

It  was  easy  to  conduct  religious  services  in  the 
rooms  where  I  was  a  prisoner  with  other  officers, 
in  Richland  Jail,  Columbia,  and  there  I  led  in 
prayer  every  evening,  and  conducted  a  service  with 
preaching  every  Sunday.  As  a  friend  outside  sug 
gested  to  me,  there  was  this  advantage  in  preach 
ing  in  prison,  I  was  "  sure  of  my  audience,"  All 
must  attend,  and  none  could  leave  before  the  ser 
vice  was  over.  But  compulsory  attendance  does 
not  in  itself  secure  profitable  religious  services. 
In  Columbia  Jail  there  were,  in  other  rooms  and 
in  adjacent  buildings,  enlisted  men  of  both  army 
and  navy  who  could  not  be  reached  from  the 
officers'  rooms.  I  therefore  asked  permission  of 
the  Confederate  authorities  to  hold  a  Sunday  ser 
vice  for  their  benefit  in  the  jail  yard.  Consent  was 
given,  on  condition  that  I  would  not  refer,  either 
in  prayers  or  remarks,  to  matters  in  contest  in  the 
war.  Of  course,  I  acceded  to  this  requirement,  for 
of  our  men's  loyalty  and  patriotism  I  had  no  doubt 
or  fear ;  and  thenceforward  I  held  weekly  services 
there  as  well  as  inside. 

The  first  Sunday  I  preached  to  my  new  congre 
gation  in  the  jail  yard,  I  stood  on  the  jail  steps 
while  the  post  commandant  stood  back  of  me,  and 
one  of  his  soldiers  stood,  with  a  fixed  bayonet,  at  my 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  27 

left  hand  on  the  steps,  to  punctuate  a  sentence  in 
case  I  should  touch  on  forbidden  topics.  If  any 
thing  could  keep  a  preacher  within  the  bounds  of 
strict  orthodoxy  in  his  pulpit  utterances,  it  would 
be  such  formidable  heresy-hunters  as  these  at  such 
a  time.  But  I  was  found  to  be  safe  so  far,  and  soon 
the  members  of  the  Confederate  guard  who  were 
not  just  then  on  duty,  as  well  as  friends  of  the 
commandant  from  outside,  were  attentive  and  in 
terested  listeners  to  this  preaching  of  a  prisoner 
to  the  prisoners. 

After  my  release  from  prison,  I  took  passage  on 
the  steamer  Arago,  then  in  the  government  service, 
from  New  York  to  Port  Royal.  I  found  on  board  a 
priest  who  was  going  as  an  army  chaplain,  deputed 
by  Archbishop  Hughes,  at  the  request  of  Bishop 
Lynch,  to  minister  not  only  to  our  soldiers,  but  to 
such  Catholics  of  the  diocese  of  Charleston  as  were 
then  within  our  lines.  Having  had  no  experience 
as  an  army  chaplain,  he  was  glad  to  talk  over  mat 
ters  connected  with  his  new  field  of  service,  and  we 
cordially  co-worked  for  the  common  cause. 

The  day  after  our  start  from  New  York  was 
Sunday.  There  were  on  board  some  three  hundred 
soldier  passengers  from  various  commands,  return 
ing  to  duty.  I  suggested  to  my  fellow-chaplain 
that  we  ought  to  have  some  religious  service  on 
board,  and  that  we  might  arrange  to  conduct  it 
together.  He  feared  that  such  a  service  would 
/lot  be  approved  by  the  commander  of  the  vessel. 


28  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

I  said  that  I  knew  Captain  Gadsen  very  well,  and 
was  sure  he  would  welcome  our  work.  Accord 
ingly  I  went  to  the  commander  and  obtained  his 
hearty  consent.  At  this  I  told  the  other  chaplain 
that  he  might  conduct  the  service,  and  I  would 
make  the  address,  or  vice  versa,  as  he  should 
prefer.  He  replied  that,  if  I  would  conduct  the 
service,  he  would  make  the  address. 

When  notice  was  given  throughout  the  vessel 
that  there  would  be  a  religious  service  on  deck  at 
noon,  conducted  by  the  Catholic  and  Protestant 
chaplains  together,  all  were  interested,  and  all 
wanted  to  be  present.  That  harmonious  and  joint 
service  was  a  fresh  illustration  of  the  truth  that, 
where  the  spirit  of  Christ  is,  there  is  liberty. 

Rejoining  my  regiment  at  St.  Augustine,  I  had 
other  experiences  as  a  chaplain  and  with  places 
of  gatherings  for  a  chaplain's  congregation.  Every 
Protestant  clergyman  had  left  town  when  the  Con 
federates  evacuated  it.  Only  the  Catholic  priest, 
a  lovely-spirited  Christian  pastor,  was  still  at  his 
post.  As  my  quarters  were  near  the  Catholic 
Church — just  across  the  plaza — I  saw  him  fre 
quently,  and  enjoyed  Christian  counsel  with  him. 
Protestant  residents  were  glad  to  attend  the  army 
chaplain's  services,  if  they  attended  any.  The  con 
valescent  camp  of  the  Department  of  the  South, 
then  at  St.  Augustine,  furnished  a  large  contingent 
of  officers,  in  addition  to  the  regiments  on  duty 
there.  There  was,  therefore,  quite  a  congregation, 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  29 

and  quite  a  pastoral  field  for  the  single  army  chap 
lain  on  duty  there  at  that  time. 

We  held  regular  services,  at  one  time  in  the 
Presbyterian  Church,  and  at  another  time  in  the 
Episcopal  Church.  I  conducted  a  service  with 
preaching  in  the  forenoon  ;  a  Sunday-school  in  the 
afternoon ;  a  prayer-meeting  in  the  evening,  on 
Sundays ;  and  on  Wednesday  evening  we  had  a 
mid-week  prayer-meeting.  This  was  in  addition 
to  special  services  in  the  hospitals,  in  the  military 
barracks,  and  in  the  meeting-places  of  the  colored 
people. 

These  occasional  brief  services  at  various  places 
were  an  important  part  of  a  chaplain's  public  work, 
aside  from  his  personal  interviews,  including  prayer 
and  counsel,  with  the  men,  in  his  tent  or  in  theirs, 
on  hospital  cots,  or  on  the  field  when  disabled  or 
dying.  I  had  taken  with  me  from  the  North  a 
then  newly  arranged  collection  of  Bible  texts,  in 
the  form  of  a  wall  roll  for  display  in  a  hospital 
or  a  sick-room,  known  as  the  "  Silent  Comforter." 
The  texts  were  classified  under  appropriate  heads 
for  every  day  in  the  month,  on  thirty-one  pages, 
the  pages  being  turned  to  sight  day  by  day.  The 
texts,  being  printed  in  large  type,  could  be  read 
at  quite  a  distance  by  the  men  on  their  cots.  The 
timely  and  well-chosen  words  would  perhaps  strike 
the  eye  of  a  weary  and  homesick  soldier  as  he 
looked  toward  them  from  his  bed  of  pain,  bring 
ing  memories  of  a  comforting  truth  he  had  been 


30  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

familiar  with  in  a  Christian  home,  or,  again,  it 
would  come  home  to  his  heart  as  a  new  and  needed 
truth. 

A  copy  of  this  "  Silent  Comforter "  I  had  sus 
pended  in  our  chapel-tent,  and  in  my  own  tent,  and 
in  each  ward  of  our  army  hospital  at  New  Berne. 
Its  texts  for  the  day  gave  a  suggestion  for  familiar 
words  to  the  inmates  of  the  hospital  when  I  came 
to  pray  with  them ;  and  again  they  furnished  a 
theme  for  our  mid-week  prayer-meetings.  It  often 
seemed  as  if  the  words  for  the  hour  had  been 
meant  of  God  for  us,  in  the  circumstances  in  which 
we  found  ourselves  that  very  day.  They  did  not 
grow  commonplace  and  meaningless  from  frequent 
use.  A  copy  of  that  "  Silent  Comforter"  hangs  on 
my  library  walls  to-day,  its  pages  having  been 
turned  day  by  day  for  more  than  thirty  years  with 
out  its  words  growing  stale  through  much  repeti 
tion.  On  the  contrary,  they  have  gained  added 
preciousness  because  of  their  varied  memories  and 
sacred  associations,  and  they  speak  things  new 
and  old  continually  to  all  who  look  at  them. 

In  addition  to  a  similar  use  of  the  "  Silent  Com 
forter  "  in  St.  Augustine  as  in  New  Berne,  a  copy 
of  it  was  suspended  in  the  military  guard-house  of 
the  provost-marshal,  at  the  old  government  quar 
ters  west  of  the  plaza.  There  it  was  made  use  of 
in  the  chaplain's  visits  to  those  who  were  in  con 
finement  because  of  offenses  against  military  disci 
pline.  There,  as  elsewhere,  it  showed  that  every 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  3 1 

heart  is  human,  and  that  God's  truth  comes  home 
to  every  human  heart.  Memories  of  hours  of  re- 
lio-ious  service,  and  of  conversation  in  connection 

o 

with  them,  in  that  St.  Augustine  guard-house,  are 
dear  to  the  chaplain's  heart,  to  the  present  day,  be 
cause  of  the  soldiers  who  were  there  manifestly 
reached  for  good. 

Both  Sundays  and  week-days  we  had  services  for 
a  time  in  the  old  Catholic  chapel  of  Fort  Marion, 
formerly  the  "  Fortress  San  Marco,"  on  the  sea 
front  of  St.  Augustine,  at  the  upper  end  of  the  town. 
This  fort,  of  coquina  rock,  or  shell  marl,  a  con 
glomerate  of  small  sea-shells  and  sand,  abundant 
in  the  vicinity,  was  built  by  the  Spanish.  Begun 
more  than  two  centuries  ago,  it  was  a  hundred 
years  in  building,  and  while  in  the  possession  of 
the  English  for  twenty  years,  after  1763,  it  was  said 
to  be  the  "  prettiest  fort  in  the  king's  dominions." 
When  bombarded  by  the  English  general,  Ogle- 
thorpe,  in  1741,  it  stood  the  bombardment  like 
modern  earthworks.  The  solid  shot  embedded 
themselves  in  the  coquina  rock  as  in  a  sponge,  so 
that  the  material  was  strengthened  instead  of  being 
fractured,  in  the  progress  of  the  siege. 

This  fort,  with  its  castellated  battlements,  its 
formidable  bastions,  its  lofty  and  imposing  sally 
port  still  surmounted  by  the  royal  arms  of  Spain ; 
its  portcullis,  moat,  and  drawbridge ;  its  round  and 
ornate  coquina  sentry-boxes,  at  each  principal  para 
pet  angle ;  its  commanding  lookout  tower,  and  its 


32  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

stained  and  moss-grown  massive  walls, — impressed 
an  observer  as  a  relic  of  the  long-gone  past.  Its 
frowning  guns,  and  its  guard  of  veteran  soldiers, 
combined  to  make  it,  at  that  time,  a  representative 
beleaguered  fortress. 

Its  heavy  casemates,  its  gloomy  vaults,  its  dark 
passages,  and  its  then  recently  discovered  dungeon, 
(where,  according  to  popular  report,  were  found 
skeletons  chained  to  rusty  ring-bolts)  ;  the  dark 
tally -lists  on  the  moldering  walls,  speaking  of 
weary  prisoners  in  other  dreary  days, — all  were 
calculated  to  awe  or  solemnize  an  imaginative 
mind.  The  old  Catholic  chapel  was  in  the  central 
casemate,  directly  opposite  the  sally-port.  It  had 
an  elaborate  entrance  or  portico,  a  niche  for  a  holy- 
water  receptacle,  and  an  altar  fixed  against  the 
opposite  wall. 

This  chapel  was  a  quaint  and  solemn  place  for  a 
religious  service.  Our  Catholic  soldiers  valued  its 
hallowed  associations,  and  our  Protestant  soldiers 
were  glad  to  be  there.  Memories  of  our  gatherings 
in  that  place,  and  of  personal  interviews  between 
chaplain  and  soldiers  there,  and  elsewhere  in  that 
fort,  are  among  the  most  intense  and  vivid  im 
pressions  of  war  time  with  survivors  of  that  army 
congregation. 

When  our  regiment  went  to  Virginia,  in  the 
spring  of  1864,  to  have  a  part  in  General  Grant's 
campaign  there,  fresh  experiences  were  once  more 
the  order  of  the  day.  At  first  the  army  movements 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  33 

were  so  rapid  that  there  was  no  opportunity  to 
secure  chapel-tents  from  the  base  of  supplies,  or  to 
build  chapel-booths  at  the  front.  The  only  way 
to  gather  the  men  for  worship  was  on  the  open  field 
where  we  bivouacked, — by  the  roadside  as  we  halted 
on  a  march,  or  in  a  shady  ravine  within  reach,  if 
we  had  a  few  hours  of  rest  in  a  wooded  region. 

For  instance,  after  several  days  of  fighting  and 
of  moving  from  point  to  point  along  the  lines  before 
Bermuda  Hundreds,  we  found  a  few  hours  of  rest 
in  which  to  have  an  open-air  prayer-meeting  on 
the  evening  of  a  Sunday  in  May.  It  was  a  delight 
ful  service,  all  the  more  so  because  of  its  contrast 
with  our  fierce  activities,  between  which  it  was 
a  lull.  No  drum  or  bugle  call  was  then  permissible 
to  summon  our  gathering,  so  near  the  enemy.  A 
blazing  brush-heap  was  the  rallying-point,  and  the 
singing  of  a  familiar  hymn  served  for  a  "  church 
call."  Officers  and  men  assembled  quietly.  Some 
threw  themselves  on  the  ground  to  listen  ;  some 
stood  in  the  firelight,  or  back  in  the  shade.  God's 
words  were  read  by  the  burning  pile.  They  were 
heard  with  interest  by  brave-hearted  and  tender 
soldiers.  The  prayers  were  free,  simple,  earnest, 
and  trustful.  The  songs  of  praise  were  full  of  ten 
derness  and  melody.  Spoken  words  at  such  a  time 
were  from  heart  to  heart.  The  roughest  of  the 
men  were  chastened  and  subdued.  All  were  reve 
rent  and  thoughtful.  There  were  thoughts  of 
home  and  of  praying  loved  ones.  There  were 


34  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

thoughts  of  duty  and  of  danger  in  the  present,  and 
of  consequences  in  the  future,  near  and  remote. 
No  audience  could  be  a  more  sympathetic  and 
hopeful  one  than  such  a  gathering  of  soldiers  by 
an  evening  camp-fire,  in  the  face  of  the  stern  reali 
ties  which  then  confronted  us. 

At  the  close  of  that  meeting,  a  young  soldier 
from  a  New  York  regiment,  who  happened  to  be 
present,  came  to  tell  me  of  his  longing  to  be  at 
peace  with  God,  even  if  he  must  be  at  war  with 
men.  He  was  an  only  son  from  a  Massachusetts 
home.  He  had  been  religiously  brought  up,  but 
had  wandered  far  from  the  right.  The  evening's 
summons  had  reached  his  heart.  He  longed  to  be 
back  at  his  Master's  feet.  It  was  good  to  help  that 
dear  soldier  into  light  and  peace.  That  evening 
wayside  gathering  for  prayer  and  counsel  was  a 
specimen  of  many  in  a  chaplain's  army  life. 

When,  however,  General  Grant's  headquarters 
were  fixed  at  City  Point,  and  the  siege  of  Peters 
burg  and  Richmond  was  fairly  entered  on,  there 
were  possibilities  to  veteran  soldiers  in  the  way  of 
cabin  and  chapel  building  not  before  attained  by  us 
in  camp  or  in  campaigning.  Perhaps  the  greatest 
height  of  field-chapel  construction  was  reached  by 
a  regiment  of  New  York  Engineers,  in  front  of 
Petersburg,  in  a  beautiful  rustic  chapel  built  of  pine 
logs  and  poles  with  the  bark  on.  It  was  in  pointed 
Gothic  style,  with  a  graceful  spire  of  the  same 
material  as  the  building  itself,  and  was  a  most 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  35 

attractive  and  picturesque  structure.  Yet  while 
this  was  the  summit  of  such  work,  there  were  many 
other  rustic  chapels  built  along  the  lines,  which 
would  not  have  been  deemed  possible  during  the 
first  year  of  the  war. 

Near  the  New  Market  Road,  a  few  miles  below 
Richmond,  in  the  winter  of  1864-65,  where  our  regi 
ment  had  its  camp  from  November  to  March,  our 
pioneers  built  a  rustic  chapel  that  answered  its 
purpose  admirably.  A  stockade  of  pine  logs  or 
posts  formed  side  walls  and  gable  ends.  A  large 
canvas  tent-fly,  sixty  feet  by  forty,  furnished  by  the 
Christian  Commission,  stretched  over  ridge-pole 
and  rafters,  with  supporting  posts,  was  an  appro 
priate  cover.  Spring  pole  benches  provided  easy 
seats  for  several  hundred  persons. 

An  attractive  reading-desk,  or  lectern,  was  formed 
by  setting  a  small  tree  trunk  into  the  earthen  floor, 
and  surmounting  it  with  a  cracker-box  cover,  with 
a  rustic  border  in  fitting  forms.  Two  grapevines 
seemed  to  be  climbing  this  post,  as  if  coming  up 
from  the  ground,  and  crossing  each  other  in  their 
ascent  in  the  form  of  Gothic  arches.  The  floor  of 
the  chapel  was  covered  with  sawdust  from  a  neigh 
boring  deserted  saw-mill,  so  as  to  absorb  the  moist 
ure  from  the  Virginia  ground  in  the  rainy  season. 
A  sheet-iron  stove,  also  from  the  Christian  Com 
mission,  enabled  us  to  warm  it.  Arms  for  candle 
sticks  projected  in  the  form  of  a  cross  from  the 
central  supporting  pillars.  A  picture  of  President 


36  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Lincoln  in  a  rustic  frame  was  on  the  central  pillar. 
Dark  green  vines  and  boughs  adorned  the  columns, 
and  also  the  walls,  while  scarlet  holly-berries  showed 
themselves  in  relief  among  the  clustering  leaves. 
Small  pine-trees  were  either  side  of  the  reading- 
desk.  Our  national  colors  and  our  Connecticut 
state  ensign  were  stacked  behind  the  pulpit  as  an 
appropriate  background  when  the  chaplain  con 
ducted  service  at  it.  Across  the  entire  rear  end 
of  the  chapel,  behind  the  pulpit,  was  a  wide  shelf 
for  reading-matter  for  the  men,  and  two  rude  tables 
near  the  shelf,  with  writing  materials  on  them,  were 
for  their  convenience. 

In  order  to  give  emphasis  to  the  importance  of 
this  regimental  chapel  as  a  place  of  worship  and  as 
a  means  of  good  to  officers  and  men,  it  was,  while 
yet  unfinished,  formally  dedicated  in  an  opening 
service  on  the  Sunday  afternoon  of  its  first  occu 
pancy.  The  entire  regiment  was  in  attendance. 
Prominent  officers  from  other  regiments,  and  many 
enlisted  men,  were  present.  Chaplain  Janeway,  of 
a  Pennsylvania  regiment,  had  a  part  in  the  dedica 
tion  services.  The  sermon  was  from  i  Kings  6:12: 
"  Concerning  this  house  which  thou  art  in  build 
ing,  if  thou  wilt  walk  in  my  statutes,  and  execute 
my  judgments,  and  keep  all  my  commandments  to 
walk  in  them ;  then  will  I  perform  my  word  with 
thee."  The  theme  was:  "Religion  Indispensable 
Everywhere  " — especially  in  the  army ;  and  a  place 
for  worship  was  a  reminder  of  this. 


Army  Chapels  and  Services  37 

This  chapel  was  a  great  convenience  to  our  regi 
ment,  and  it  was  admired  by  many  from  outside. 
The  chaplain  of  a  cavalry  regiment,  an  Episcopal 
clergyman,  coming  to  see  it  one  week-day,  was  so 
delighted  with  the  artistic  form  and  surroundings 
of  its  rustic  pulpit  that  he  lifted  up  his  hands,  on 
seeing  it  for  the  first  time,  and  exclaimed :  "  I  de 
clare,  Chaplain,  it's  enough  to  make  a  man  religious 
to  look  at  that  pulpit." 

As  there  were  many  fresh  recruits  sent  to  our 
regiment  during  that  closing  winter  of  our  war,  the 
new  chapel  was  much  used  and  valued  by  them. 
In  addition  to  our  usual  religious  services  we  had 
there  lectures  and  addresses  of  various  kinds  for 
their  benefit,  and  they  availed  themselves  of  it  as  a 
place  to  read  and  write  in.  It  well  repaid  all  efforts 
put  forth  to  make  it  attractive.  It  was  occupied 
until  the  regiment  was  started  on  the  march  which 
ended  at  Appomattox  Court  House.  Its  memories 
and  influence  still  live.  The  rustic  reading-desk, 
fitted  with  an  appropriate  base,  and  sent  North, 
when  that  move  was  made,  is  preserved  as  a  valued 
relic  in  the  chaplain's  home,  where  its  lessons  are 
for  children  and  for  children's  children. 

When  fighting  was  over,  there  was  yet  other  army 
service  to  be  performed  before  all  the  regiments 
could  be  sent  home  and  disbanded.  From  April 
to  September,  1865,  our  regiment  was  stationed  just 
outside  of  the  city  of  Richmond.  A  commodious 
chapel-tent  was  set  up  there,  for  the  joint  occu- 


38  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

pancy  of  the  Tenth  Connecticut  and  the  Eleventh 
Maine.  Many  impressive  services  were  held  in  it. 
The  officers  of  both  regiments  were  generally  in 
attendance.  The  waiting,  restless  soldiers,  relieved 
of  the  pressure  of  constant  active  service,  needed 
words  of  encouragement,  stimulus,  reminder,  and 
caution.  And  the  brave  soldiers  were  ever  respon 
sive  to  such  words.  In  time  of  peace,  as  in  time 
of  war,  a  soldier  congregation  was  the  most  hope 
ful  of  congregations. 

At  last  the  chaplain's  parting  words  were  spoken 
to  his  disbanding  congregation.  The  camp  was 
broken  up.  The  soldiers  returned  to  their  homes. 
There  can  never  be  a  reunion  here  of  that  scattered 
charge.  But  those  who  heard  aright  and  wor 
shiped  truly  in  the  chapel  tents  of  that  army  ser 
vice  shall  meet  again  in  "  the  true  Tent  which  the 
Lord  pitched,  not  man,"  and  shall  go  no  more  out 
forever. 


CHAPTER  III 

DISCLOSURES   OF   THE   SOLDIER   HEART 

"In  buttoning  up  his  soldier  coat,  the  soldier 
covers  his  heart  from  sight,  and  you  cannot  tell 
from  outside  appearances  whether  he  has  a  heart 
or  not."  The  soldier,  as  a  soldier,  represses  all 
signs  of  emotion,  and  even  seems  at  times  to  be 
uninfluenced  by  ordinary  feelings  of  tenderness  and 
sympathy.  But  now  and  then  you  get  a  glimpse 
of  the  soldier  heart  in  a  way  to  convince  you  that 
that  heart  is  human,  and  that  the  keeping  it  covered 
from  sight  is  a  ceaseless  struggle  between  the  outer 
and  the  inner  man. 

Soon  after  I  joined  my  regiment  at  New  Berne, 
North  Carolina,  I  was  asked  to  conduct  a  funeral 
service  over  two  men  of  a  Massachusetts  regiment 
in  a  local  army  hospital.  Going  to  the  hospital, 
which  was  a  dwelling-house  taken  possession  of 
by  the  military  authorities,  I  was  at  first  shocked  by 
the  absence  of  all  ordinary  signs  of  respect  for  the 
dead,  and  I  should  have  then  said  that  the  soldiers 
were  utterly  without  feeling  in  the  presence  of  their 
dead  comrades. 

The  front  door  of  the  house  opened  directly  on  a 

39 


4O  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

main  street  of  the  city.  In  the  hall,  just  inside  the 
door,  lay  the  two  bodies,  uncoffined,  wrapped  in 
army  blankets.  Soldiers  stood  or  sat  about,  on 
the  front  stairs  and  on  the  door-step,  or  passed  in 
and  out  over  the  bodies,  chatting  unconcernedly, 
while  the  enlisted  men  who  had  been  detailed  as 
hospital  nurses  were  making  preparations  for  re 
moving  the  bodies  to  an  army  burial-place  just  out 
side  the  city.  But  as  this  chatting  went  on,  one  of 
the  "  unfeeling  "  soldiers  turned  toward  a  comrade, 
who  had  been  detailed  as  a  hospital  nurse,  and, 
pointing  to  one  of  the  bodies,  said,  in  low,  gentle 
tones:  "Jem,  have  you  cut  a  lock  of  Bill's  hair? 
I  reckon  his  mother  would  like  it.  My  mother 
would."  That  utterance  gave  me  my  first  glimpse 
of  the  soldier  heart,  buttoned  over  by  the  soldier 
coat.  I  never  again  had  a  doubt  of  that  heart. 

As  I  was  returning  from  my  home,  after  a  brief 
leave  of  absence  on  one  occasion,  I  saw  a  young 
soldier  waving  a  kindly  good-by  to  friends,  as  our 
train  left  the  station.  He  was  in  the  seat  just 
before  me.  As  the  cars  moved  off  he  dropped  his 
head  on  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  him,  and 
sobbed  as  though  his  heart  would  break.  Pres 
ently  he  mastered  his  feelings,  and,  straightening 
himself  up,  he  sat  with  a  stern  face  and  fixed  ex 
pression,  as  a  cold,  immovable  soldier. 

Reaching  forward,  I  touched  him  gently  on  the 
shoulder,  and  asked  tenderly  : 

"  Have  you  been  long  in  service,  my  friend  ?  " 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        41 

"Two  years  and  a  half,"  he  replied,  "  and  now 
I've  re-enlisted  for  three  years  more.  I've  just  had 
my  thirty  days  at  home,"  (a  veteran,  on  re-enlisting 
for  three  years,  was  given  a  thirty  days'  furlough,) 
<l  and  am  going  back  to  my  regiment." 

"  It  is  hard,"  I  said,  "  to  leave  the  dear  ones 
behind." 

"  Yes,  sir,  it  is.  I  can  move  forward  under  fire 
without  flinching.  I  can  see  men  drop  by  my  side, 
wounded  or  dead,  and  not  quiver.  I  can  suffer  all 
I  have  to  in  camp,  or  on  the  march,  and  not  mind 
it.  But  I  can't  bid  good-by  to  my  wife  and 
children  for  three  years,  and  not  make  a  baby  of 
myself." 

And  I  thought  him  all  the  more  of  a  man  for 
that. 

Several  months  later  I  saw  that  young  soldier, 
as  an  artillery  sergeant,  in  a  redoubt  commanded 
by  my  brother  on  the  Bermuda  Hundreds  front  It 
was  in  an  hour  of  critical  action.  He  was  direct 
ing  the  men  who  were  serving  heavy  guns  in  a 
fierce  fight.  There  was  no  show  of  weakness  in  his 
looks  or  manner  then.  He  was  cool  and  collected, 
and  gave  no  sign  of  concern  for  himself  or  thought 
of  home  dear  ones.  The  soldier  coat  covered  from 
sight  the  soldier  heart,  but  it  was  there  all  the  same. 

In  the  opening  of  the  year  1863,  Port  Royal 
harbor,  South  Carolina,  was  the  rendezvous  of 
army  transports  preparatory  to  a  move  against 
Charleston.  One  Sunday  afternoon,  fifty  or  more 


42  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

vessels  of  all  sizes,  crowded  with  armed  men,  were 
in  sight  of  each  other,  while  busy  preparations  were 
making  for  the  landing  of  troops.  Officers  and 
men  realized  that  they  were  there  for  active  service, 
and  they  were  facing  the  fact  of  impending  battle 
and  death.  It  was  no  time  for  unsoldierly  thought 
or  feeling.  Bristling  forts  guarded  the  entrance  to 
the  harbor,  and  ironclads,  gunboats,  and  line-of- 
battle  ships  were  to  be  seen  among  the  transports. 

The  sea  was  still  agitated  from  a  storm  of  a  few 
days  before,  and  a  stiff  breeze  was  blowing.  A 
steamer,  towing  two  small  boats  with  a  man  in 
each,  moved  past  the  schooner  transport,  on  the 
decks  of  which  our  regiment  was  crowded.  When 
a  little  distance  from  us,  as  the  steamer  changed 
her  course,  one  of  the  boats  was  brought  directly 
forward  of  and  capsized  by  the  other.  Instantly 
from  a  score  of  voices  on  our  deck  the  cry  rang 
out :  "  A  man  overboard !  A  man  overboard  !  " 

"  Stop  that  steamer,"  shouted  our  colonel. 
"  You've  lost  a  man." 

"  Let  go  that  stern  boat,"  cried  another.  "  Cast 
off  that  line  !  Quick  !  quick  ! " 

Oh,  how  slowly  those  moved  who  could  give 
help!  How  time  dragged!  How  hearts  jumped 
in  vain  longing  !  It  seemed  an  age  before  the  poor 
fellow  rose  to  the  surface  from  under  the  capsized 
boat.  At  length  he  was  seen  some  distance  astern, 
struggling  in  the  boiling  wake  of  the  now  slowing 
steamer.  He  beat  the  waves  as  if  he  could  not 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        43 

swim,  and  we  feared  he  must  go  down  unaided. 
Oh,  what  a  feeling  of  hopeless  helplessness!  Oh 
for  wings  !  Oh  for  power  even  to  walk  the  waves! 
It  was  so  hard  to  wait  and  do  nothing.  An  oar 
floated  near  the  man,  which  he  seemed  not  to  see. 

"  Catch  that  oar!"  called  one. 

"  Why  don't  you  cast  off  that  boat?"  cried  an 
other. 

"  Hurry!     Do  hurry !  "  called  a  hundred  voices. 

Every  effort  for  the  drowning  man's  rescue 
seemed  fearfully  protracted;  yet  for  us,  at  our 
greater  distance,  we  could  only  wait  and  watch 
and  pray. 

"Will  he  bear  up  till  help  comes?"  was  the  cry 
of  our  hearts. 

The  tide  was  sweeping  him  out  toward  the  sea. 
At  length  the  long-delayed  boat  was  manned,  and 
it  shot  out  in  his  pursuit. 

"  Now,  give  way,  boys ;  give  way ! "  cried  the 
stentorian  voice  of  one  of  our  excited  captains, 
whose  inspiring  call  was  heard  by  the  men  in  the 
boat,  and  the  stalwart  oarsmen  bent  every  nerve  to 
their  task. 

Every  eye  on  our  vessel,  and  on  a  score  of 
others,  was  strained  toward  the  struggling  man, 
and  every  heart  beat  in  responsive  sympathy  with 
those  who  were  striving  to  save  him.  Officers  and 
men  fairly  held  their  breath  as  they  watched  in 
tently  that  fearful  life-chase. 

"God  help  him!"  gasped  one  watcher  impul- 


44  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

sively ;  and  fifty  bursting  hearts  re-echoed  that 
prayer. 

"  There !  he's  gone,"  cried  a  score  of  voices,  as 
a  wave  hid  him  from  view. 

"  No,  he's  up  again,"  was  the  joyous  response. 

"  Give  way,  boys  !  Now,  give  way  !  "  was  once 
more  the  inciting  cry. 

Again  and  again  the  receding  speck  in  the  waters 
was  for  a  second  lost  behind  a  dashing  wave.  As 
often  a  despairing  cry  came  from  the  hearts  of  the 
anxious  watchers,  and  again  as  many  hearts  took 
new  hope  in  the  reappearance  of  the  object  of  in- 
tensest  interest  and  sympathy. 

The  boat  drew  near  the  speck.  It  was  now  but 
a  single  length  behind. 

"  Steady,  now !  steady,  or  you'll  run  him  down," 
was  the  call  from  our  quarter-deck. 

A  man  in  the  bow  of  the  boat  reached  forward. 
The  drowning  one  caught  at  the  outstretched  arm, 
and  in  a  minute  more  was  drawn  into  the  boat. 

"He's  saved!  He's  saved!  Thank  God  !  Thank 
God !  "  burst  from  the  lips  of  all  about  me.  A 
cheer  went  up  from  the  watching  soldiers,  although 
some  were  under  too  great  strain  to  join  in  it. 

Officers  looked  at  each  other  with  pale  faces 
and  tearful  eyes,  under  the  severe  reaction  of  that 
terrible  strain.  Strong  men  were  weak.  Careless 
ones  were  serious.  Some  actually  took  to  their 
berths  under  the  exhaustion  following  that  tension 
of  the  nerves. 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        45 

Yet  only  one  man  had  been  in  danger,  in  the 
presence  of  thousands  who  were  gathered  to  face 
death  and  to  lay  down  their  lives,  or  to  take  life, 
without  flinching.  Soldiers  who  would  march 
boldly  up  to  the  cannon's  mouth,  or  who  would 
face  volley  after  volley  of  musketry  and  not  shrink 
or  shirk,  would  pale  and  shudder  at  the  thought  of 
a  poor  fellow  dying  needlessly  before  their  eyes 
when  there  was  a  possibility  of  his  saving.  This 
incident  gave  me  a  fresh  glimpse  of  the  soldier 
heart,  and  showed  anew  that  it  is  not  in  poetry 

alone  that 

"  The  bravest  are  the  tenderest, 
The  loving  are  the  daring." 

Tender  as  the  soldier's  heart  was,  it  was  even 
truer  and  more  loyal  to  the  country  for  which  his 
life  was  given  up.  At  times  there  was  a  momen 
tary  struggle  between  the  drawings  of  natural 
affection  and  the  claims  of  patriotism,  but  patriotism 
was  sure  to  triumph.  Two  loving  brothers  were 
side  by  side  in  my  regiment.  As  they  were  moving 
forward  in  a  charge,  near  Kinston,  North  Carolina, 
one  of  them  fell  dead,  shot  through  the  heart.  His 
brother,  uttering  a  cry  of  grief,  threw  himself  on 
the  body  as  if  his  own  life  were  going  out.  Then, 
as  his  comrades  were  pressing  forward,  he  rose  to 
his  feet,  and,  choking  down  all  show  of  feeling,  he 
took  his  place  in  the  ranks  and  went  on  in  the 
deadly  charge. 

Thoughts  of  home  mingled  with  thoughts  of 


46  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

army  service  in  the  heart  of  the  average  soldier 
boy, — for  the  soldiers  in  our  Civil  War  were  hardly 
more  than  boys,  as  a  rule.  A  battery  boy  shot  in 
the  wrist  was  given  chloroform  in  the  field  hospital 
at  Whitehall,  North  Carolina.  While  he  was  un 
conscious,  his  hand  was  amputated  and  the  stump 
bound  up.  I  was  kneeling  by  his  side  as  he  came 
again  to  his  senses.  Looking  vacantly  about  him 
at  first,  his  eyes  slowly  turned  to  the  bandaged 
stump,  and  he  realized  the  truth.  Tears  stood  in 
his  eyes  as  he  exclaimed  unselfishly,  "What  will 
my  mother  do  now?"  It  was  for  her  sake  that  he 
grieved  over  his  lost  right  hand ;  but  he  did  not 
grudge  his  gift  to  his  country. 

"  There  goes  a  hand  for  the  Union,"  said  another 
brave  soldier,  as  his  forearm  was  shot  away. 

More  than  once  a  wounded  soldier  called  out  to 
me  after  a  battle,  as  he  saw  I  was  taking  the  names 
of  the  dead  and  wounded  to  report  them  in  a  home 
paper :  "  Say  '  slightly  wounded,'  Chaplain." 

He  wanted  to  spare  anxiety  to  his  home  dear 
ones,  true  soldier  that  he  was. 

Tenderness  and  courage  went  together  always. 
As  I  was  going  from  shelter-tent  to  shelter-tent, 
visiting  the  men  of  my  regiment,  one  hot  Sunday 
afternoon  in  the  summer  of  1864,  at  Deep  Bottom, 
Virginia,  I  found  a  little  fellow  crying  bitterly  with 
homesickness.  As  I  talked  with  him  tenderly,  I 
found  he  was  disappointed,  and  so  almost  heart 
broken,  because  of  his  lack  of  home  letters  which 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        47 

he  had  looked  for.  I  spoke  words  of  sympathy  and 
cheer,  and  as  I  left  him  I  thought  he  was  still  too 
much  of  a  boy  to  be  away  from  home  in  the  army. 

A  few  weeks  later  my  regiment  stood  in  battle 
line,  repelling  one  of  the  fiercest  attacks  of  the 
enemy  we  had  met  in  our  three  years  of  service. 
As  I  stood  by  my  colonel  and  my  brigade  com 
mander,  just  back  of  the  line  of  battle,  I  saw  that 
homesick  boy  hurrying  into  his  place  in  the  ranks. 
He  had  been  out  all  night  on  picket  duty,  and, 
coming  into  the  camp  in  the  morning,  he  had 
learned  of  the  regiment's  new  move,  and  had  hur 
ried  to  be  with  his  comrades  in  their  peril.  Hardly 
had  he  taken  his  place  and  fired  his  first  shot  when 
he  fell  with  a  bullet  through  his  lungs.  Tearing 
open  his  coat,  and  gasping  for  breath,  as  his  life- 
blood  gushed  out  through  his  death-wound,  with 
never  a  whimper  or  a  groan,  he  looked  along 
the  unwavering  line,  and  called  out  cheerily  with 
his  failing  breath,  "  Fire  away,  boys  ;  fire  away  !  " 
And  the  homesick  boy,  who  was  the  heroic  soldier, 
found  his  final  rest. 

As  two  regiments  of  our  brigade  were  endeavor 
ing  to  wrest  an  important  position  from  the  enemy 
on  the  north  bank  of  the  James  River,  on  a  hot 
July  day,  a  man  of  the  Eleventh  Maine  was  shot 
through  the  body,  and  was  evidently  dying.  His 
commander,  seeing  him  there  under  the  broiling 
sun,  and  realizing  that  he  had  but  a  little  while  to 
live,  called  to  some  men  to  carry  him  to  a  shady 


48  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

place  at  the  rear.  The  brave  fellow,  taking  in  the 
whole  situation,  said  cheerily,  "  No,  no,  colonel. 
That  would  take  two  men  from  the  front,  and  every 
man  is  needed  here  now.  I  can  just  as  well  die 
here."  And  die  there  he  did.  What  surpassing 
love  for  their  country  and  ours  was  that  of  these 
tender-hearted,  brave-souled  soldiers  ! 

"  Many  with  crossed  hands  sighed  for  her ; 
But  these,  our  brothers,  fought  for  her, 
At  life's  dear  peril  wrought  for  her, 
So  loved  her  that  they  died  for  her." 

Many  a  soldier,  weak  in  body  but  strong  in 
patriotic  devotion,  was  surer  to  be  on  hand  when 
the  order  came  to  fall  in  for  a  fight  than  when  his 
rations  were  distributed  day  by  day.  Yet  this  was 
not  because  he  "  would  rather  fight  than  eat,"  but 
because  his  country's  call  to  him  for  service  was  a 
stronger  appeal  than  his  natural  appetite. 

There  was  a  frail  soldier  boy  in  our  regiment, 
who  was  sick  at  Annapolis  and  on  the  transports 
off  Cape  Hatteras  and  in  the  "  Swash,"  but  who 
was  in  line  of  battle  at  Roanoke  Island,  standing 
up  bravely  through  it  all.  Giving  way  to  weakness 
after  this  fight,  he  was  unable  to  do  ordinary  duty 
in  camp  until  the  battle  of  New  Berne  came  on, 
and  then  he  was  again  in  line  of  battle  through  that 
fight.  This  state  of  things  went  on  for  nearly  two 
years  with  this  man.  It  seemed  to  need  a  battle 
call  to  give  him  strength  to  rise  up  in  his  weak 
ness  for  a  life-and-death  conflict;  but  that  call  was 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart       49 

sufficient.  And  after  using  all  his  failing  strength 
in  his  last  battle,  he  at  last  lay  down  in  his  tent  to 
yield  up  his  patriotic  soldier  life. 

After  nearly  three  years  of  hard  service  in  our 
regiment,  one  young  officer  grew  sluggish  in  duty, 
and  his  fellow-officers  thought  him  inclined  to 
inaction,  and  lacking  in  his  old-time  zeal  and  fear 
lessness.  He  was  simply  worn  out  with  the  work 
he  had  been  doing,  in  the  exposures  to  which  he 
had  been  subjected.  At  length  he  was  mustered 
out  at  the  close  of  his  term  of  service,  and  he 
started  for  home  from  his  Virginia  camp  with  but 
little  life  remaining  to  him.  Reaching  the  railroad 
station  in  Connecticut  nearest  his  home,  he  took  a 
stage-coach  for  a  ten-mile  drive  to  the  old  home 
stead.  Getting  down  from  the  stage-coach  before 
the  farmhouse  home,  he  walked  up  toward  the 
house,  and  was  met  and  welcomed  by  his  patriotic 
old  father. 

"  Father,  I've  come  home  to  die,"  he  said. 

And  those  were  his  last  words.  He  staggered, 
in  growing  weakness,  into  the  house,  and  lay  down 
to  die.  His  last  strength  had  been  reserved  for 
this  home  stretch ;  and  all  his  fellow-officers  then 
knew  that  he  had  been  the  true  and  brave  soldier 
to  the  end. 

This  self-abnegating  devotion  to  country  of  the 
soldier  heart  was  not  in  solitary  cases  merely ;  it 
prevailed  in  families  and  communities,  and  was  a 
characteristic  of  our  citizen  soldiers  as  a  class.  A 


50  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

soldier  in  our  brigade,  out  of  a  Maine  family  of 
patriots,  was  an  illustration  of  this.  At  the  opening 
of  the  war,  a  father  and  five  sons  from  that  family 
volunteered  for  army  service. 

One  son  was  wounded  at  the  first  Bull  Run,  but 
was  soon  once  more  at  the  front.  After  a  year's 
service  the  father  was  mustered  out  for  disability. 
One  son  was  killed  at  Antietam,  a  second  at  Port 
Hudson,  a  third  at  Gettysburg.  The  son  who  was 
wounded  at  Bull  Run  received  another  wound 
before  Petersburg,  and  started  for  home  on  sick 
leave.  Leaving  the  stage-coach  at  nightfall,  at  the 
point  nearest  his  father's  house,  he  started  across 
the  fields  on  foot.  Weak  from  his  wounds,  and 
weary,  he  wandered  from  the  path  in  a  blinding 
sleet  storm,  and  finally  sank  down  exhausted,  to  be 
frozen  to  death  but  a  stone's  throw  from  the  dear 
old  patriot  homestead  whose  shelter  he  was  seeking. 

The  fifth  and  only  surviving  son,  a  soldier  in  the 
Eleventh  Maine,  in  our  brigade,  had  been  wounded 
at  the  Deep  Run  fight  in  August,  1864,  and  was 
at  home  when  his  last  dead  brother  was  brought 
in.  He  soon  after  rejoined  his  regiment,  where,  in 
the  later  months  of  the  war,  I  saw  him,  and  he  then 
apologized  to  me  for  being  on  light  duty  because 
of  his  wound,  instead  of  in  more  active  service,  as 
if  he  wanted  to  have  me  know  that  he  was  not 
shirking.  Were  there  ever  such  soldier  hearts  as 
the  hearts  of  our  average  citizen  soldiers  ? 

There  was  no  show  of  heroism  on  the  part  of 


Disdosiires  of  the  Soldier  Heart        5 1 

the  average  soldier,  any  more  than  there  was  a 
show  of  sentiment.  He  simply  was  a  loving- 
hearted  hero,  without  saying  anything  about  it,  or 
making  a  demonstration  of  his  feeling.  Indeed,  a 
soldier  tried  to  cover  up  his  emotion ;  and  in  this 
effort  he  would  frequently  act  as  if  he  were  ready 
to  laugh,  when  he  felt  a  good  deal  more  like  cry 
ing.  A  joke,  indeed,  often  took  the  place  of  an 
oath,  starting  a  laugh  instead  of  a  groan  or  a  sob, 
as  the  feelings  must  find  vent  in  some  way. 

Bivouacking  in  a  field  in  North  Carolina,  when 
on  a  hurried  move  into  the  interior  of  the  state,  we 
were  crowded  together  on  the  frozen  ground  on  a 
wintry  night,  mules  and  wagons  near  officers  and 
men.  As  we  were  trying  to  sleep,  every  once  in  a 
while  a  mule  would  give  one  of  those  nerve-strain 
ing  brays  that  shook  the  ground  and  curdled  the 
blood,  and  seemed  absolutely  unbearable.  After 
this  had  gone  on  for  a  while,  one  of  the  men  was 
heard  calling  to  his  fellow,  as  if  a  pleasant  thought 
had  just  struck  him,  as  another  of  those  unearthly 
brays  quivered  along  the  ground :  "  Steve,  Steve, 
I'm  going  to  carry  one  of  those  canaries  home 
with  me."  This  sally  was  a  relief  to  all  of  us  ;  and 
some  were  asleep  before  we  were  fairly  through 
laughing  over  the  ludicrous  comparison. 

As  we  marched  along,  far  into  the  evening,  on 
one  of  the  days  of  that  raid,  the  column  stopping 
from  time  to  time  in  the  depressing  air  of  a 
malarial  swamp,  we  grew  tired  and  heavy,  and 


52  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

longed  for  a  change.  As  we  halted  again,  a  speci 
men  Yankee  soldier  drawled  out : 

"  I  don't  wonder  that  North  Car'liner  women 
chew  snuff." 

"  How  so  ?  " 

"  Why,  I  should  think  they'd  get  discouraged  if 
they  didn't." 

The  laugh  over  that  joke  was  all  the  more  of  a 
relief  because  there  was  nothing  in  the  joke. 

Coming  around  Cape  Hatteras  on  a  rolling  pro 
peller  in  a  storm,  it  was  hard  to  keep  up  a  show  of 
cheerful  spirits.  Several  privates  of  a  New  York 
regiment  whose  term  of  two  years'  service  had  ex 
pired  lay  on  some  bales  of  pressed  hay  congratu 
lating  themselves  that  they  were  going  home  at 
last.  One  of  them  took  out  his  discharge  paper 
and  feasted  his  eyes  on  its  wording. 

"  I  say,  Bill,  hear  this :  '  No  good  reason  is 
known  why  John  Wilson  should  not  re -enlist.' 
Thunder  !  I  know  more  than  a  dozen  reasons.  In 
the  first  place,  I  want  somebody  else  to  try  it." 

While  before  Petersburg,  doing  siege  work,  in 
the  summer  of  1864,  our  men  had  wormy  "hard 
tack,"  or  ship's  biscuit,  served  out  to  them  for  a 
time.  It  was  a  severe  trial,  and  it  taxed  the  temper 
of  the  men.  Breaking  open  the  biscuit,  and  finding 
live  worms  in  them,  they  would  throw  the  pieces 
in  the  trenches  where  they  were  doing  duty  day  by 
day,  although  the  orders  were  to  keep  the  trenches 
clean,  for  sanitary  reasons. 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        5  3 


A  brigade  officer  of  the  day,  seeing  some  of 
these  scraps  along  our  front,  called  out  sharply 
to  our  men :  "  Throw  that  hardtack  out  of  the 
trenches."  Then,  as  the  men  promptly  gathered 
it  up  as  directed,  he  added :  "  Don't  you  know 
that  you've  no  business  to  throw  hardtack  in 
the  trenches  ?  Haven't  you  been  told  that  often 
enough  ?  "  Out  from  the  injured  soldier  heart  there 
came  the  reasonable  explanation  :  "  We've  thrown 
it  out  two  or  three  times,  sir,  but  it  crawls  back." 

About  that  same  time  I  was  accompanying  our 
brigade  commander  in  a  tour  of  observation  along 
our  front.  As  he  stopped  in  the  trenches  where 
the  men  were  keeping  up  a  sharp  fire,  he  saw  them 
opening  a  fresh  box  of  ammunition,  of  which  they 
constantly  needed  a  new  supply.  Noting  the  care 
ful  wrapping  of  the  cartridges  in  their  neat  pack 
ages  of  a  dozen  each,  he  said  pleasantly  to  the 
soldier  who  was  taking  them  out : 

"  '  Uncle  Sam '  is  very  careful  that  his  boys  shall 
have  good  cartridges  while  in  his  service." 

"  Yes,  sir;  I  wish  he  was  half  as  careful  of  their 
hardtack,"  was  the  keen  and  respectful  reply. 

This  dry  humor  in  the  expression  of  strong  feel 
ing  showed  itself  in  the  ordinary  soldier  in  every 
phase  of  his  service.  There  was  a  contempt  for 
cowardice  and  for  shirking  that  must  be  spoken 
out ;  for  all  felt  the  danger  to  themselves  of  giving 
way  to  temptation  in  that  line,  and  they  stayed 
each  other  up  by  helping  to  keep  public  sentiment 


54  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

right.  A  coward  or  a  shirk  was  a  constant  butt 
of  ridicule. 

At  Bermuda  Hundreds,  Virginia,  when  we  first 
reached  there,  in  May,  1864,  a  detail  of  two  hun 
dred  and  fifty  men  was  made  from  our  regiment  for 
fatigue  work  during  the  night,  throwing  up  an  em 
bankment  in  our  front.  Among  the  men  sent  out 
was  a  notorious  shirk  from  one  of  the  companies, 
who  was  never  ready  to  fight  or  to  work. 

As  I  sat  in  my  tent  writing,  that  evening,  I  heard 
a  man  outside  stumbling  in  the  darkness  over  the 
tent-ropes  at  the  rear  of  the  field  and  staff  tents. 
The  sentry  in  front  of  the  colonel's  tent  called  out : 

"  Who  goes  there  ?  " 

"  Me,"  piped  a  weak  voice. 

"  Who's  me?" 

"  Prince,  of  Company  T." 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  You  were  sent 
out  on  fatigue.  Why  aren't  you  with  the  men  ?  " 

"  I  lost  my  way,  and  couldn't  find  'em." 

"  Corporal  of  the  guard !  "  called  out  the  sentry. 
"  Here's  Prince,  of  Company  T.  He's  lost  those 
two  hundred  and  fifty  men  he  took  out  with  him." 

The  regimental  estimate  of  its  champion  shirk  was 
hissed  out  in  that  call  to  the  corporal  of  the  guard. 

Perhaps  the  most  trying  service  to  which  a  sol 
dier  could  be  called,  and  that  which  tested  most 
sorely  his  courage  and  his  character,  was  his  ser 
vice  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  an  experience  to  which 
thousands  of  soldiers  were  called,  and  in  which 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        55 

they  were  all  put  to  the  test,  and  stood  it  nobly. 
There  they  had  greatest  need  of  sympathy  and 
affection,  and  there  the  manifestation  of  these  feel 
ings  was  most  admirable  and  most  comforting. 

It  was  in  the  midsummer  of  1863  that  I  was  a 
prisoner  of  war  in  Charleston,  South  Carolina. 
Coming  under  the  suspicion  of  being  a  spy,  in  con 
sequence  of  an  incident  while  on  a  visit  through 
the  lines,  under  a  flag  of  truce,  in  North  Carolina 
the  year  before,  I  was  separated  from  my  prison 
comrades  of  the  Union  army,  and  was  shut  in  the 
common  jail,  among  murderers  and  desperadoes 
from  the  streets  of  Charleston  in  the  worst  days  of 
the  Southern  Confederacy. 

The  condition  of  things  on  our  side  of  the  lines, 
at  the  time  of  my  capture,  seemed  dark  at  the  best. 
Battles  had  gone  against  us.  Generals  had  disap 
pointed  us.  Gettysburg  still  hung  in  the  balance, 
at  our  latest  news  from  the  North.  I  had  heard 
cheers  in  the  streets  of  Charleston  over  the  news 
of  the  draft  riots  in  New  York  City,  as  I  was 
brought  toward  the  jail.  To  be  a  prisoner  at  such 
a  time,  with  the  gallows  confronting  one,  and  not 
a  human  being  to  give  a  word  or  a  look  of  sym 
pathy,  was  a  strain  on  any  soldier  heart,  that  tempted 
one  to  despair  as  to  the  earthly  outlook. 

I  never  had  such  a  glimpse  of  the  bottomless  pit 
as  in  the  scene  before  me  in  that  jail  at  that  time. 
The  air  itself  was  stifling  in  the  foulness  of  those 
close-shut  and  heated  wards.  And  the  moral 


56  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

atmosphere  was  yet  more  dense  and  intolerable. 
Blasphemy  and  obscene  speech  poured  out  un 
ceasingly  from  the  lips  of  demon-like  men,  half 
clothed  or  actually  naked,  who  glared  and  wrangled 
and  struggled  in  that  seething  mass  of  sin-cursed 
humanity.  Occasionally  the  cry  of  "  Murder !  " 
centered  all  attention  for  the  moment  in  ruffians 
who  were  rolling  on  the  floor  in  the  angry  clutch  of 
deadly  hatred,  and  the  strong  arms  of  other  ruffians 
were  taxed  to  their  utmost  in  separating  the  bitter 
combatants.  And  all  the  while  the  air  seemed 
fouler  and  fouler,  and  the  place  itself  more  hope 
lessly  suffocating. 

Shrinking  from  the  pollution  which  pressed  me 
at  every  turn,  I  found  my  way  into  one  of  the  cells 
opening  into  the  court  where  the  multitude 
thronged  and  swayed;  and  there  I  clambered  up 
on  to  the  stone  window-bench  before  one  of  the 
barred  openings  through  the  heavy  walls  of  the 
jail,  and,  drawing  up  my  knees  so  as  to  keep  within 
the  recess  of  the  narrow  opening,  I  bowed  my  head 
on  my  knees,  and  gave  way  to  my  feelings  in  the 
utter  weakness  of  despair.  I  could  not  live  any 
longer  as  I  was.  I  did  not  want  to  live.  I  must 
be  out  from  there.  Anywhere,  anywhere,  even  by 
way  of  the  gallows,  out  from  that  hell  upon  earth ! 

Just  then  it  was,  as  I  huddled  there  in  that  jail 
window  with  my  face  against  my  drawn-up  knees, 
that  I  was  touched  gently  on  the  shoulder,  and  a 
kindly  voice  said  to  me, 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        57 

"  You  seem  troubled,  my  friend.  Maybe  you're 
hungry.  Cheer  up !  Here's  some  bread." 

I  looked  up,  as  much  surprised  as  despairing 
Elijah  when  the  angel  came  and  touched  him 
under  the  juniper  bush  in  the  desert.  And  there, 
just  below  me,  was  the  winsome  face  of  a  young 
man  who  seemed  all  unlike  the  other  inmates  of 
that  place  of  horrors,  who  was  reaching  up  to  me 
a  loaf  of  soft  white  bread. 

"Thank  you!  Thank  you!"  I  said  instinctively. 
"  It's  not  bread  I'm  wanting." 

"  Oh !  but  you  look  hungry,"  he  added.  "  You'll 
want  it  by  and  by.  It's  good  bread."  And  he 
laid  the  loaf  on  my  knees,  and  turned  away  into 
the  surging  crowd,  out  of  my  sight  again. 

It  was  good  bread, — a  baker's  loaf, — in  marked 
contrast  with  our  coarse  cornmeal  prison  fare ;  but 
that  was  not  what  I  was  longing  for.  I  was,  in 
deed,  hungry,  oh,  how  hungry!  but  not  for  bread. 
My  heart  was  hungry  for  human  sympathy,  for  just 
such  words  and  looks  as  he  brought  me  with  that 
loaf. 

As  he  disappeared  into  the  crowd,  I  raised  my 
head,  and  drew  a  full  long  breath  again.  A  crush 
ing  weight  seemed  lifted  from  my  shoulders.  I 
dropped  myself  off  from  that  window  bench  and 
stood  erect.  I  was  another  man.  I  was  in  another 
place, — a  larger,  freer  place.  The  wall  of  the  gloomy 
jail  had  moved  outward.  Its  ceiling  had  been 
uplifted.  The  air  was  purer.  I  was  glad  I  was 


58  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

alive.  And  life  was  worth  living.  And  all  be 
cause  of  that  glimpse  of  a  brother  soldier's  heart 

Who  was  he  ?  I  turned  to  find  him.  Pushing 
through  the  crowd,  I  pressed  on  till  I  saw  him  be 
fore  me.  Reaching  out  my  hand,  and  laying  it  on 
his  shoulder,  I  said  :  "  Look  here,  my  friend !  Who 
are  you  ?  How  came  you  here  ?  "  Not  knowing 
who  I  was,  Union  or  Confederate,  he  answered 
cheerily:  "Oh!  I'm  a  Yankee  soldier.  I'm  from 
away  up  in  Connecticut;  but  I'm  fast,  down  here, 
now." 

It  will  be  believed  that  that  answer  brought  us 
nearer  together.  I  learned  that  he  also  was  under 
suspicion  as  a  spy,  but  that  he  had  been  longer  in 
that  place,  and  had  better  adapted  himself  to  it,  than 
I  had.  And  in  the  spirit  of  a  brave,  true-hearted 
soldier,  he  had  come  to  a  fellow-sufferer,  with  love 
in  his  heart  and  a  loaf  of  bread  in  his  hand,  and 
had  given  me  life  and  help  and  cheer.  That  was 
like  a  true  soldier  prisoner. 

A  little  later,  when  I  was  released  from  special 
confinement,  and  was  with  the  other  Union  army 
and  navy  prisoners  in  Columbia  Jail,  I  had  another 
glimpse  of  the  soldier  heart,  and  of  the  soldier-sailor 
heart,  in  special  trial.  The  siege  of  Charleston 
was  in  progress.  An  attempt  was  to  be  made  by 
the  Confederate  forces  to  blow  up  the  New  Iron 
sides  in  the  Union  fleet.  They  were  desirous  of 
obtaining  information  from  some  of  the  sailor 
prisoners  concerning  the  modes  of  approach  to 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        59 

that  vessel,  in  order  that  they  might  reach  it  most 
effectively.  They  supposed  it  would  be  an  easy 
matter  to  bribe  one  of  the  Yankee  sailors  to  give 
this  information,  and  they  gave  orders  to  one  of 
the  non-commissioned  officers  on  guard  over  these 
prisoners  to  do  this,  but  to  no  purpose. 

Then  a  commissioned  officer  tried  it,  with  the 
same  result.  Afterwards  the  captain  of  the  guard 
himself  made  the  attempt,  but  was  unsuccessful. 
At  length  a  staff  officer  of  General  Beauregard 
came  up  from  Charleston  to  show  how  this  could 
be  done.  He  took  those  sailors  one  by  one,  and 
told  each  man  that,  if  he  would  answer  a  few  ques 
tions  about  the  New  Ironsides,  he  would  be  liberally 
paid  for  it,  and  would  be  sent  through  the  lines  to 
go  free  to  his  Northern  home.  That  was  a  tempt 
ing  offer  to  half-starved  men,  in  a  cramped  and 
heated  prison, — food,  money,  liberty,  for  answers  to 
a  few  questions.  But  among  all  those  Union  sailors, 
not  one  American  jack-tar  could  be  seduced  from 
duty.  They  all  had  brave  and  loyal  hearts,  as  was 
made  clear  to  those  who  had  this  glimpse  of  those 
hearts. 

Yet  later,  in  that  same  Columbia  Jail,  we  were 
all  brought  to  another  test.  There  was  a  threat  of 
retaliatory  measures  on  the  part  of  both  govern 
ments.  General  Burnside  had  executed  two  Con 
federate  prisoners  as  spies  in  East  Tennessee.  The 
authorities  at  Richmond  had  selected  two  Federal 
officers,  from  Libby  Prison,  for  execution  in  retali- 


60  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

ation.  Our  government  at  Washington  had  picked 
two  Confederates  to  execute  in  case  the  hostages 
were  harmed.  There  was  talk  of  following  this  up 
until  the  prisons  were  emptied. 

Looking  at  this  threat  from  the  prisoners'  side 
at  that  time  was  very  different  from  talking  it  over 
now  as  war  history.  It  was,  to  say  the  least,  not  a 
cheering  prospect.  Some  of  us  were  inclined  to 
grumble.  One  afternoon,  as  a  group  of  us  sat  to 
gether  in  the  Columbia  jail,  it  was  said  by  one  that 
we  had  enlisted  to  fight,  and  not  to  be  strung  up 
like  dogs,  and  it  wasn't  fair  on  the  part  of  our 
government  to  leave  us  in  this  plight. 

Just  then  a  lieutenant  from  a  Maine  regiment, 
hearing  our  talk,  stalked  into  our  room  from  the 
room  beyond,  and,  standing  up  before  us,  said 
pluckily : 

"Well,  fellows,  do  you  want  to  know  how 
I  feel  about  this  thing  ?  I'll  tell  you.  I  enlisted 
to  serve  my  government,  and  I'm  going  to  stick  to 
my  agreement.  If  my  government  thinks  I  can 
serve  her  best  by  being  hanged,  I'm  ready  to  be 
hanged.  That's  all  there  is  about  that." 

"  Bully  for  you,  Lieutenant  Ware !  "  was  the  an 
swer  of  one  of  our  number,  and  we  were  all  agreed 
with  him.  His  was  the  true  soldier  heart. 

Soldiers  were  bright  and  tender  and  brave.  They 
were  unselfish  and  devoted.  Nothing  that  their 
country  needed  of  them  was  denied  or  begrudged. 
They  kept  back  no  part  of  their  country's  ransom, 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        6 1 

nor  complained  they  of  the  mode  and  manner  of 
its  payment. 

At  the  close  of  the  war  I  saw  a  Virginia  land 
owner  near  the  field  of  Mechanicsville,  where 
General  McClellan  fought  one  of  his  severe  battles 
in  the  summer  of  1862.  This  man  said  that  he 
went  out  to  the  field  after  our  troops  had  retired 
from  it.  He  noticed  a  little  fellow  lying  wounded 
in  the  hot  sun.  As  he  looked  pityingly  at  the  boy, 
the  boy  gained  courage  to  make  a  request : 

"  Neighbor,  won't  you  get  me  a  drink  of  water  ? 
I'm  very  thirsty." 

"  Of  course  I  will,"  said  the  man,  and  he  brought 
the  water. 

Encouraged  by  this,  the  little  fellow  asked  again : 
"Won't  you  get  me  taken  to  the  hospital?  I'm 
badly  wounded." 

The  man  said  :  "Well  now,  my  boy,  if  I  get  you 
taken  care  of,  and  you  get  well  so  that  you  can  go 
home  again,  will  you  come  down  here  and  fight  me 
and  my  folks  once  more  ?  How  about  that  ?  " 

It  was  a  hard  test  for  a  wounded  prisoner  boy, 
but  that  boy  stood  the  test.  Looking  his  captor  in 
the  eye,  he  said  firmly  :  "That  I  would,  my  friend." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  that  man,  "  I  liked  that  pluck. 
I  had  that  boy  taken  to  the  hospital  and  good  care 
taken  of  him." 

Because  a  soldier  had  to  button  his  soldier  coat 
over  his  heart,  and  not  give  way  to  ordinary  emo 
tions  of  affection  or  anxiety,  he  was  all  the  more 


62  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

susceptible  to  influences  immediately  about  him 
which  appealed  to  his  tenderest  feelings.  Home 
ties  were  for  the  time  being  suspended.  He  must 
not  think  much  of  father  or  mother,  of  brother  or 
sister,  of  wife  or  children,  or  of  another  self  from 
whom  he  was  far  separated.  Dwelling  on  such 
thoughts  would  tend  to  draw  him  away  from  pres 
ent  prevailing  duty.  Yet  his  heart  must  have  vent, 
and  as  a  consequence  it  went  out  with  peculiar 
affection  toward  an  army  comrade  by  his  side,  who 
was  congenial  in  spirit,  or  whose  needs  appealed  to 
his  sympathies.  It  was  this  that  made  army  friend 
ships  so  close  and  precious,  and  that  gave  them,  in 
many  a  case,  a  touch  of  romance  beyond  the  crea 
tions  of  fiction.  There  was  every  grade  of  these 
friendships,  from  the  most  refined  and  poetic  to 
the  most  commonplace  and  even  ludicrous ;  yet  in 
them  all  was  the  disclosure  of  the  true  soldier  heart. 
During  the  last  year  of  the  war  there  was  an  in 
flux  of  substitutes  and  "  bounty  jumpers,"  including 
foreigners  of  all  descriptions,  in  place  of  the  volun 
teer  Americans  who  had  before  filled  our  ranks. 
Among  these  substitutes,  desertions  were  numer 
ous,  and  executions  were  frequent.  There  was,  in 
my  regiment,  an  intelligent  Swede,  by  the  name 
of  Lundman,  in  whom  I  became  quite  interested. 
The  Swedes  were  as  a  class  good  soldiers  and  good 
men.  This  one  helped  me  in  the  putting  up  of  my 
chapel-tent,  and  he  afterwards  brought  one  of  his 
countrymen  to  me  who  could  not  speak  English, 


Disclosures  of  the  Soldier  Heart        63 

but  who  wanted  to  talk  with  me.  One  day  I  learned 
that  he  had  deserted  and  been  arrested,  and  was 
now  in  the  care  of  the  provost-marshal.  An  Irish 
man  came  to  me  with  the  first  news  of  this  affair. 

"  Misther  Chaplain,"  he  said,  "  I've  gravous  news 
for  ye.  Yer  frind,  Misther  Lanman,  who  was 
afther  fixin'  yer  tent  for  ye,  sthrayed  off  the  picket 
line,  and  they  found  him,  and  I  think  they're  call- 
in'  him  a  desarter." 

Then,  with  this  mild  putting  of  the  facts,  he  be 
gan  to  plead  for  his  tent-rnate  as  I  had  never  heard 
one  man  plead  for  another  of  another  nationality. 
It  was  evident  that  here  was  one  of  those  peculiar 
and  powerful  army  loves  that  take  the  whole  heart, 
as  only  a  soldier  affection  can.  My  own  heart  was 
moved  in  sympathy,  as  the  poor  fellow  poured  out 
his  for  his  other  self. 

"  For  the  love  of  God,  Misther  Chaplain,  save  him 
ev  ye  can !  For  God's  sake  spake  to  the  Gin'ril ! 
O  God !  I'd  die  ev  they  shot  'im !  And  I  know 
he  was  niver  afther  maneing  it." 

In  his  rude,  tender  speech,  he  told  how  he  had 
come  to  love  the  Swede. 

"  It's  never  I  saw  him  till  we  got  to  the  camp 
togither ;  but  ev  he  wuz  me  own  brother  I  couldn't 
luv  him  more.  Ev  he  wuz  me  own  counthryman  I'd 
niver  be  here  a  spakin'  for  him.  He  had  mighty 
atthractive  ways  on  him.  He  cud  spake  Swadish 
and  Jarman  and  Inglish,  but  he  cud  only  write 
the  Swadish.  And  he  waz  for  asking  me  to  write 


64  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

down  a  little  song  for  him,  that  he  cud  write  it  out  in 
Inglish.  And  there  he  wuz  three  days  at  the  writ- 
in'.  Ah !  he  wuz  a  grate  figurist.  I'd  go  across  the 
ocean  with  that  man  all  alone  in  a  ship.  Why, — 
would  you  b'lave  it  ? — he  was  afther  markin'  out  on 
a  paper  the  whole  of  a  compass,  ye  see.  And  sez 
he,  '  I'll  be  makin'  a  sailor  uv  ye,  Pat'  Nothin' 
wuz  a  mysthery  to  him.  And  the  more  I  saw  uv 
him,  the  more  I  wuz  thinkin'  uv  his  ways,  and  the 
more  plazin'  they  were  to  me." 

The  eloquence  of  unselfish  love  was  in  this  plea 
for  his  friend,  and  I  could  not  refuse  to  do  what  I 
might  in  the  Swede's  behalf.  I  went  to  the  provost- 
marshal's  quarters,  and  found  that  the  evidence  of 
desertion  was  clear,  and  that  the  man  did  not  even 
deny  it.  On  my  return  the  Irishman  was  watching 
for  me. 

"  Hev  you  seen  him,  yer  riv'rince  ?  Can  yer 
riv'rince  do  anythin'  for  him  ?  " 

Then  he  told  me  feelingly  how  he  hoped  my 
prayers  at  dress-parade,  and  my  "  tacheings  at  the 
meetings  "  had  had  a  good  influence  over  him ;  as 
if  he  wanted  his  friend  to  be  ready  at  the  last  for 
the  sad  end  that  threatened  him. 

Appomattox  Court  House  ended  the  war,  leaving 
the  Swede  unshot,  and  his  Irish  tent-mate  happy ; 
but  the  incident  of  that  army  friendship  freshly 
impressed  me  with  a  sense  of  the  tenderness  of 
the  uncommon  common  soldier's  heart. 


CHAPTER  IV 
A  CHAPLAIN'S  SERMONS 

Our  Civil  War,  with  its  national  outbreak  and 
uprising,  brought  to  all  citizens  new  conditions  of 
life,  and  new  needs  and  duties.  Ordinary  guides  of 
conduct  and  belief  appeared  in  a  new  light  when 
looked  at  in  the  lurid  flames  of  fratricidal  strife. 
The  very  pages  of  the  Bible  read  differently  when 
searched  for  counsel  and  suggestion  in  a  state  of 
things  never  before  known  or  conceived  of  by  the 
lover  of  God's  word. 

It  was  a  typical  experience  that  was  told  of  by 
the  patriotic  clergyman  who  had  been  a  zealous 
advocate  of  peace  at  all  times  down  to  the  attack 
on  Fort  Sumter. 

When,  on  Saturday,  April  14,  1861,  the  old  flag 
was  there  hauled  down  under  the  hostile  fire  of 
those  who  had  been  trusted  as  its  defenders,  and 
the  aroused  North  was  in  the  white  heat  of  a 
righteous  indignation,  this  clergyman  thought  of 
his  call  to  preach  on  the  morrow.  The  only  fitting 
text,  he  said,  that  he  could  find  in  that  Bible,  which 
had  seemed  to  him  until  now  to  enjoin  only  peace 
and  non-resistance,  was  the  command  of  the  Prince 


66  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

of  Peace :  "  He  that  hath  no  sword,  let  him  sell 
his  garment,  and  buy  one." 

When  clergymen  were  appointed  as  chaplains  in 
the  Federal  army  they  found  that  their  divinity- 
school  teachings  and  their  pulpit  training  and  ex 
perience  were  not  sufficient  to  enable  them  to  meet 
the  new  demands  on  them  for  their  soldier  congre 
gations  in  camp  and  in  campaigning.  Old  sermons, 
preached  in  the  quiet  of  home  life,  or  in  the  self- 
seeking  struggles  of  business  and  money-getting 
activities,  were  not  adapted  to  the  needs  and  trials 
of  men  who  had  left  home  behind  them,  and  were 
living  and  dying  in  self-sacrificing  devotion  to  their 
God-given  government  and  their  loved  and  im 
periled  country. 

A  worthy  and  devoted  clergyman,  who  had  stood 
well  as  preacher  and  pastor  at  home  before  his 
appointment  as  chaplain,  was  bemoaning  the  hope 
lessness  of  his  best  endeavors  to  meet  the  necessi 
ties  of  his  present  position  before  he  had  learned 
the  peculiar  needs  of  soldiers. 

"  Will  they  listen  to  your  preaching,  Chaplain  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  My  men  don't  seem  to  want  sermons. 
When  I  came  out,  I  had  picked  out  about  fifty  of 
the  best  sermons  I  had,  but  none  of  them  seem  to 
suit.  I  have  cut  them  down  as  well  as  I  could, 
until  I  have  almost  spoiled  their  plan ;  but  the 
colonel  tells  me  they  are  too  long;  and  all  the 
others  seem  to  think  so.  Soldiers  don't  appear  to 
like  preaching." 


A  Chaplain  s  Sermons  67 

On  the  other  hand,  the  clergyman  who  as  an 
army  chaplain  recognized  the  fact  that  at  home  he 
never  saw  such  a  congregation  as  was  before  him 
in  his  new  charge,  that  he  had  never  been  with 
men  who  were  so  inspired,  so  tempted,  so  beset,  or 
so  imperiled,  and  that  neither  he  nor  they  had  ever 
lived  and  faced  death  in  such  a  time,  with  its  pecu 
liar  conditions  and  necessities,  would  not  think  of 
looking  to  old  experiences  for  counsel  and  guid 
ance,  or  to  old  sermons  for  words  of  sympathy  and 
incitement  and  cheer  to  his  men.  He  would  find 
fresh  calls  for  help  in  his  and  their  surroundings, 
in  the  look  of  their  eyes,  and  in  the  expression  of 
their  features,  and  he  would  feel  that  he  must  say 
what  he  had  never  been  moved  to  say  in  any 
former  sphere  of  existence,  or  utterly  fail  to  meet 
their  requirements.  Thus  aroused  and  inspired, 
many  an  army  chaplain  who  had  been  a  good 
preacher  at  home  became  a  better  preacher  in  the 
field,  because  he  was  a  new  man  in  the  new  needs 
of  the  new  hour  and  sphere. 

Being  appointed  to  an  army  chaplaincy  with 
out  training  or  experience  as  a  clergyman,  I  had 
none  of  the  helps,  and  none  of  the  hindrances, 
of  service  in  a  previous  ministerial  sphere.  I  was 
not,  on  the  one  hand,  bound  by  a  sense  of  conven 
tional  limitations  in  sermon-making ;  and,  on  the 
other  hand,  I  lacked  many  of  the  advantages  of 
study  and  practice  in  formal  religious  discourse.  I 
came  to  my  new  duties  as  a  new  man,  and  I  have 


68  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

thought  that  the  lessons  of  my  peculiar  experience 
might  be  of  benefit  to  others,  as  illustrating  the 
wonderful  fitness  of  the  Bible  to  every  condition 
and  need  of  man,  and  the  readiness  of  men  to 
recognize  this  truth  as  made  clear  to  them. 

Joining  my  regiment  at  New  Berne,  North  Caro 
lina,  in  the  autumn  of  1862,  I  preached  my  first 
sermon  there  on  the  Sunday  after  my  arrival,  be 
fore  officers  and  men,  in  our  large  chapel-tent.  I 
announced  my  position  and  work  in  the  words  of 
our  great  Commander,  in  Luke  22  :  27, — 

"  I  am  among  you  as  he  that  serveth." 

The  test  of  a  soldier's  efficiency  was  service.  It 
was  his  duty,  and  it  should  be  his  joy,  to  serve  his 
God,  his  country,  and  his  commander.  In  addition 
to  all  this,  I,  as  a  regimental  chaplain,  had  the  duty 
and  the  joy  of  serving  every  officer  and  man  in  the 
regiment  in  my  public  and  my  private  ministra 
tions.  That  was  my  starting-point.  On  that  plane 
I  was  sure  of  a  welcome.  Thenceforward  I  had 
no  fear  of  being  misunderstood  as  to  my  chaplain's 
rights  and  privileges. 

Not  long  after  there  came  a  proclamation  from 
President  Lincoln  appointing  a  national  Thanks 
giving  Day.  In  New  England,  Thanksgiving  Day 
was  pre-eminently  the  home  festival  of  the  year. 
If  the  scattered  members  of  a  family  could  be  to 
gether  at  the  old  homestead  only  once  in  twelve 
months,  they  would  choose  that  day  for  the  re 
union.  They  looked  forward  with  pleasant  antici- 


A  Chaplain  s  Sermons  69 

pations  to  that  festival  as  the  time  when  they 
might  once  more  sit  together  at  the  family  table 
and  be  happy.  But  here  were  Connecticut  boys 
in  the  field,  doing  picket  duty  in  front  of  the 
enemy's  lines,  with  no  possibility  of  going  home, 
seriously  requested  to  celebrate  Thanksgiving  Day. 
It  seemed  hardly  less  than  a  mockery. 

Friends  of  the  soldiers  in  Connecticut  sent  to 
the  regiment  a  good  supply  of  turkeys  and  cran 
berries,  of  apples  and  hickory  nuts,  for  an  extra 
regimental  dinner ;  but  these  accompaniments  of 
Thanksgiving  could  not  make  the  missing  family 
gathering.  The  call  to  give  thanks  suggested  sad 
thoughts  rather  than  joyous  ones  on  its  first  pres 
entation.  But  a  church  service,  with  a  Thanksgiv 
ing  sermon,  was  a  matter  of  course  on  that  day, 
and  I  sought  to  conduct  one  adapted  to  the  pecu 
liar  circumstances  of  the  occasion. 

My  text  was  from  Psalm  23  :  5, — 

"  Thou  preparest  a  table  before  me  in  the  pres 
ence  of  mine  enemies  :  thou  anointest  my  head 
with  oil ;  my  cup  runneth  over." 

As  showing  that  these  words  were  not  used 
merely  by  accommodation  from  their  verbal  fitness, 
I  recalled  that  they  were  spoken  by  David,  who 
had  been  brought  up  in  the  quiet  of  a  country  home 
life,  and  been  called  to  leave  his  home  and  go  out 
to  war.  He  knew  what  it  was  to  be  away  from  his 
dear  ones  and  in  the  face  of  enemies.  Yet  he 
recognized  God's  goodness  to  him  there,  and  he  was 


70  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

glad  to  give  God  thanks  for  all  that  he  had  had  of 
good,  for  all  that  he  still  had,  and  for  all  that 
he  could  look  forward  to  in  faith  and  hope. 
Then  I  drew  a  parallel  between  David's  case  and 
ours,  and  gave  reasons  why  a  day  of  thanksgiving 
was  eminently  fitting  and  timely,  just  as  we  were 
situated.  I  think  that  that  Thanksgiving  Day  in 
the  field  brought  fresh  lessons  of  God's  goodness, 
and  of  the  fulness  and  fitness  of  God's  words  in  the 
Book  of  Books,  to  many  in  that  soldier  congrega 
tion,  as  it  certainly  did  to  the  chaplain. 

As  the  months  of  the  war  dragged  wearily  on 
without  the  longed-for  progress  toward  a  satisfactory 
close ;  as  general  after  general  failed  of  coming  up 
to  popular  expectation ;  as  campaign  after  campaign 
ended  in  disaster  or  was  practically  fruitless;  as 
party  dissensions  divided  the  loyal  people  at  home, 
— the  spirits  of  officers  and  men  in  the  field  were 
sorely  strained,  and  despondency  seemed  to  be 
replacing  hope  and  courage  in  many  a  heart.  In 
December,  1862,  our  immediate  command,  under 
General  John  G.  Foster,  made  a  move  toward  the 
Weldon  Railroad,  in  North  Carolina,  in  conjunction 
with  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  in  its  advance  on 
Fredericksburg,  Virginia,  under  General  Burnside. 
Our  command  was  successful,  although  with  heavy 
loss  to  our  regiment,  while  General  Burnside's  cam 
paign  ended  disastrously.  It  was  a  depressing  time 
to  all  of  us.  I  tried  to  bring  a  cheery  message  to 
the  men  from  the  Bible  pages. 


A  Chaplain  s  Sermons  71 

My  text  was  from  Psalm  60  :  12, — 

"  Through  God  we  shall  do  valiantly :  for  he  it 
is  that  shall  tread  down  our  enemies." 

This  psalm  is  said,  in  its  title,  to  have  been 
written  "  when  Joab  returned,  and  smote  of  Edom 
in  the  valley  of  salt  twelve  thousand,"  and  it  was 
written  "to  teach,"  that  is,  to  be  handed  down  from 
generation  to  generation ;  therefore  its  lessons  are 
for  us  as  well  as  for  the  Israelites,  and  we  ought 
to  try  to  find  them  out  and  improve  them. 

The  Edomites  were  descendants  of  Esau,  as  the 
Israelites  were  descendants  of  Jacob.  All  were 
descendants  of  Isaac,  and  were  originally  brethren. 
As  brethren  they  first  became  estranged  over  a 
mess  of  colored  pottage,  and  finally  were  at  open 
war  with  each  other.  The  Edomites  closed  their 
borders  against  the  Israelites,  and  afterwards  came 
out  against  them  "with  much  people,  and  with  a 
strong  hand"  (Num.  20 :  18-21),  seeking  to  destroy 
their  corporate  nationality,  saying,  "  Come,  and  let 
us  cut  them  off  from  being  a  nation  "  (Psa.  83  : 4). 
They  became,  we  are  told,  "  confederate "  (Psa. 
83  :  5)  against  the  loyal  people  of  Israel. 

They  had  at  the  start  an  advantage  over  their 
Northern  brethren.  They  were  trained  to  hunting, 
to  the  use  of  arms,  and  to  strife.  Their  brethren 
were  a  people  of  peaceful  habits  and  pursuits,  illy 
fitted  to  contend  in  warfare,  but  whose  spirits  could 
not  be  broken,  and  who  would  not  give  up  their 
faith  in  God,  who  had  assured  to  them  their  heritage. 


72  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Finally,  David,  the  God-chosen  ruler  of  Israel, 
by  his  favorite  commander,  Joab,  overpowered  the 
warlike  confederates  in  the  Valley  of  Salt,  and  then 
David,  in  order  to  make  peace  secure,  "put  gar 
risons  in  Edom ;  throughout  all  Edom  put  he 
garrisons,  and  all  they  of  Edom  became  David's 
servants.  And  the  Lord  preserved  David  whither 
soever  he  went "  (2  Sam.  8  :  14). 

The  application  of  these  facts  to  our  condition 
of  then  was  easily  shown ;  and  it  was  not  difficult 
to  make  evident  our  personal  duty  in  the  existing 
condition  of  affairs.  The  advantage  of  such  a 
Bible  parallel  to  soldiers  in  service  was,  that  the 
words  of  encouragement  and  exhortation  came  not 
as  from  their  chaplain,  but  as  from  the  Word  of 
God,  which  they  were  bound  to  honor  and  heed. 

A  Christian  officer  of  my  regiment  expressed 
himself  as  pleased  with  the  appropriateness  of  this 
sermon,  but  he  added  that  of  course  there  could 
not  be  found  another  such  Bible  parallel  to  give 
encouragement  to  men  in  our  condition.  Yet,  as 
the  months  went  by,  both  he  and  the  chaplain  found 
that  there  was  no  lack  of  Bible  parallels  for  one 
who  was  in  need  of  them,  and  who  sought  their 
inspiration  and  guidance. 

Days  grew  darker  in  prolonged  campaigning, 
and  with  the  depressing  influence  of  repeated  fail 
ures  and  defeats.  Many  grew  tired  of  the  contest, 
and  many  lost  hope  that  good  would  come  of  its 
continuance.  At  home  there  were  those  who 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  73 

clamored  for  peace  at  any  price.  In  the  army 
there  were  dissatisfaction  and  evil  foreboding.  In 
our  department  of  the  South,  the  expedition  against 
Charleston  seemed  a  failure.  In  the  West,  Vicks- 
burg  still  held  out,  and  the  Mississippi  was  yet 
closed.  The  Army  of  the  Potomac  seemed  never 
to  succeed.  What  was  there  to  be  hopeful  over  ? 
Men's  hearts  failed  them  because  of  weary  inaction 
or  of  disastrous  defeat. 

In  February,  1863,  when  the  condition  of  affairs 
was  peculiarly  disheartening,  as  our  command  was 
inactive  on  St.  Helena  Island,  and  the  news  from 
the  North  tended  to  depress  officers  and  men,  I 
announced  a  sermon  on  the  times  for  Washing 
ton's  Birthday,  which  came  that  year  on  a  Sunday. 
I  preached  from  Exodus  14  :  15, — 

"And  the  Lord  said  unto  Moses,  Wherefore 
criest  thou  unto  me?  speak  unto  the  children  of 
Israel,  that  they  go  forward." 

The  opening  of  the  sermon  was  a  portrayal  of 
the  condition  of  affairs  between  the  Egyptians  and 
the  Israelites,  who  had  long  dwelt  together  in  har 
mony,  but  were  now  in  hostility.  The  Egyptians 
had  feared  that  they  should  lose  their  control  of 
the  government  through  the  multiplying  and  the 
activity  of  the  Israelites,  descendants  of  pilgrim 
fathers.  The  census  was  a  constant  menace  to 
them.  So  they  had  set  themselves  to  oppose  and 
oppress  their  neighbors,  and,  failing  of  success  by 
such  means,  they  came  to  open  warfare. 


74  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

At  first  the  Israelites  were  enthusiastic  and  hope 
ful.  They  thanked  God  that  he  was  leading  them, 
and  they  rejoiced  that  their  moral  stamina  was 
being  brought  to  the  test.  They  were  confident 
that  their  troubles  would  soon  be  over.  But  they 
found  that  final  victory  was  not  so  speedy  nor  so 
easy  as  they  had  anticipated.  Before  long  they 
were  surrounded  by  difficulties.  It  seemed  impos 
sible  for  them  to  advance.  They  could  not  retreat. 
The  enemy  was  in  their  rear.  The  sea  was  before 
them,  and  no  transportation  was  at  hand.  They 
appeared  to  be  entrapped,  outgeneraled,  undone. 
"  They  were  sore  afraid," — not  from  a  lack  of  per 
sonal  courage,  but  from  a  sense  of  hopelessness. 
Then  the  grumbling  began. 

How  many  regrets  there  were  that  this  last  ex 
pedition  had  been  attempted !  Officers  and  men 
groaned  over  the  matter,  and  wondered  why  their 
leaders  had  done  as  they  had.  Was  Moses  a  knave, 
or  a  fool  ?  Had  he  planned  the  destruction  of  his 
army,  or  didn't  he  know  any  better  ?  Why  must 
such  a  man  be  in  such  a  place  of  responsibility  ? 
Was  there  a  Hebrew  corporal  who  couldn't  do 
better  than  this  general  ?  If  there  were  no  better 
commanders  to  be  had  than  Moses  and  Aaron,  why 
keep  up  this  murderous  conflict  ?  The  original 
"peace  men"  grew  confident.  They  boasted  to 
Moses  that  they  had  foretold  this.  "Is  not  this 
the  word  that  we  did  tell  thee  in  Egypt,  saying, 
Let  us  alone,  that  we  may  serve  the  Egyptians  ? 


A  Chaplains  Sermons  75 

For  it  had  been  better  for  us  to  serve  the  Egyp 
tians  than  that  we  should  die  in  the  wilderness." 

It  is  probable  that  even  Moses  himself  grew 
anxious,  although  he  kept  up  his  courage  and  his 
faith.  Then  it  was  that  God  spoke  out  to  Moses, 
to  show  what  he  would  have  him  do  in  this  emer 
gency :  "Wherefore  criest  thou  unto  me?  speak 
unto  the  children  of  Israel,  that  they  go  forward." 
God's  order  was  simple  and  explicit.  "  Go  forward," 
difficulties  or  no  difficulties.  The  people  went  for 
ward,  without  transportation.  God  bared  the  bed 
of  the  Red  Sea.  The  Israelites  crossed  on  dry 
ground  safely.  The  Egyptians  were  overwhelmed. 
There  was  no  doubt,  after  that,  as  to  victory. 

God  foresaw  the  cost  of  obedience,  and  its  gain, 
when  he  said  to  the  Israelites  "  Go  forward."  The 
Israelites  trusted  him  sufficiently  to  obey.  Who 
supposes  that  in  the  palmy  days  of  Solomon  the 
glorious,  when  Judea  was  the  brightest  kingdom  of 
earth,  and  all  nations  looked  to  it  with  admiration 
and  longing,  those  who  reveled  in  its  delights,  and 
shared  in  its  benefits,  regretted  that  their  fathers 
had  heeded  God's  voice  in  their  time  of  doubting? 
What  God  had  said  to  the  Israelites,  God  said  to 
Union  soldiers  at  this  time.  If  we  would  go  for 
ward,  our  children  at  least  would  rejoice  in  our 
obedience. 

There  were  occasions  when  a  text  in  its  time 
liness  was  a  sermon  in  its  teaching,  as  truly  as 


76  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

was  the  elaboration  of  an  extended  Scripture 
parallel.  Early  in  1863,  our  division  was  put  on 
army  transports  in  the  waters  of  North  Carolina, 
and  sent  to  sea  under  sealed  orders.  When  those 
orders  were  opened,  we  found  we  were  to  have  an 
active  part  in  the  siege  of  Charleston.  As  Sunday 
came  while  we  were  on  our  way,  I  preached  to  my 
regiment  on  the  deck  of  a  crowded  transport  We 
were  anticipating  a  speedy  share  in  hard  fighting, 
and  there  was  an  extra  readiness  to  heed  a  chap 
lain's  words  in  view  of  the  seriousness  of  the  hour. 
I  took  two  texts  for  the  occasion, — 

"  When  the  host  goeth  forth  against  thine  ene 
mies,  then  keep  thee  from  every  wicked  thing" 
(Deut  23  :  9). 

"  And  it  shall  be,  when  ye  are  come  nigh  unto  the 
battle,  that  the  priest  shall  approach  and  speak  unto 
the  people,  and  shall  say  unto  them,  Hear,  O 
Israel,  ye  approach  this  day  unto  battle  against 
your  enemies :  let  not  your  hearts  faint,  fear  not, 
and  do  not  tremble,  neither  be  ye  terrified  because 
of  them ;  for  the  Lord  your  God  is  he  that  goeth 
with  you,  to  fight  for  you  against  your  enemies,  to 
save  you  "  (Deut.  20  :  2-4). 

The  lessons  of  these  texts  were  obvious.  Success 
in  every  righteous  conflict  depends  on  God.  He 
who  would  have  God's  help  must  be  God's  servant. 
As  God's  servant  he  must  be  true  to  God.  When 
a  soldier  is  called  to  face  death  as  a  servant  of  God 
he  must  keep  himself  from  evil,  so  that  he  may  be 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  77 

near  to  God  and  trustful  in  him.  Thus  pure  and 
thus  trustful,  he  may  be  fearless  and  courageous. 
God  will  go  with  him,  and  will  save  him — living  or 
dying.  The  special  temptations  of  the  soldier,  and 
his  moral  and  spiritual  perils,  were  pointed  out  in 
detail. 

One  Sunday,  in  the  summer  of  1863,  when  my 
regiment  was  doing  picket  duty  in  front  of  the 
enemy,  on  Seabrook  Island,  in  the  waters  of  South 
Carolina,  and  I  could  not  gather  an  audience  at 
any  center  for  a  religious  service,  I  selected  a 
timely  text,  in  I  Peter  5  :  8,  and  went  from  post  to 
post  of  the  picket  line,  repeating  the  text  and 
briefly  enforcing  its  lessons, — 

"  Be  sober,  be  vigilant  [or,  watchful] ;  because 
your  adversary  the  devil,  as  a  roaring  lion,  walketh 
about,  seeking  whom  he  may  devour." 

The  men  had  a  duty  to  be  watchful  against  ene 
mies,  and  they  realized  that  they  must  be  sober 
and  alert  if  they  would  guard  against  being  sur 
prised.  I  reminded  them  that  there  was  a  spiritual 
enemy  who  was  more  to  be  dreaded  than  any  flesh- 
and-blood  foe  whom  they  were  watching  against, 
and  I  suggested  ways  in  which  the  Devil  might 
harm  them  on  the  picket  front. 

During  the  siege  of  Charleston  I  was  taken  pris 
oner  on  Morris  Island,  and  was  for  several  months 
confined  in  jail  at  Charleston  and  Columbia. 


78          War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

There  I  found  new  conditions  confronting  me,  in 
preaching  to  my  audience  of  prison  soldiers ;  but 
the  Bible  never  failed  to  furnish  texts  and  lessons 
that  seemed  designed  for  just  our  peculiar  case. 
After  a  time  I  was  taken  from  Columbia  to  Rich 
mond,  and  was  an  inmate  of  Libby  Prison. 

More  than  nine  hundred  officers  were  crowded 
together  in  that  comfortless  prison-house  just  then. 
The  annoyances  of  heat  in  summer  and  cold  in 
winter,  and  of  vermin  at  all  seasons,  added  to  the 
nerve-straining  trial  of  confinement  and  inaction  at 
a  time  when  the  calls  to  a  part  in  the  great  con 
flict  outside  were  louder  and  more  imperative  than 
ever,  and  taxed  the  patience  and  temper  of  all 
beyond  ordinary  endurance.  Profanity  and  foul 
speech  were  the  special  vices  of  the  place,  promoted 
and  intensified  by  the  always  scanty  and  often  re 
pulsive  fare  of  prison  life.  This  was  the  state  of 
things  as  I  preached  my  first  sermon  there.  My 
text  was  Mark  7  :  14-16, — 

"And  when  he  had  called  all  the  people  unto 
him,  he  said  unto  them,  Hearken  unto  me  every  one 
of  you,  and  understand :  there  is  nothing  from 
without  a  man  that  entering  into  him  can  defile 
him ;  but  the  things  which  come  out  of  him,  those 
are  they  that  defile  the  man.  If  any  man  have  ears 
to  hear,  let  him  hear." 

Here  was  a  complete  discourse  by  itself,  with  in 
troduction,  teachings,  and  added  warning.  It  was 
worthy  of  our  special  attention  and  improvement. 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  79 

Speech  is  more  than  food.  Poor  fare  is  not  so 
defiling  or  destructive  as  foul  language.  It  were 
better  to  be  slowly  poisoned  to  death  than  to 
poison  the  air  about  us  by  the  outgiving  of  evil  in 
fluence  from  our  inner  being.  It  is  never  a  gain  to 
ourselves  to  speak  out  bad  thoughts  that  we  are 
conscious  of  holding.  Giving  them  expression 
increases  the  defilement  within ;  it  defiles  us  ex 
ternally,  and  it  tends  to  defile  others  who  may  be 
about  us.  It  were  preferable  to  die  holding  in  our 
evil  thoughts  than  to  live  giving  them  expression, 
with  the  sure  consequences  of  such  a  course.  Only 
in  a  place  as  crowded  and  comfortless  as  Libby 
Prison  could  this  truth  be  felt  as  we  felt  it  there. 

When  their  first  term  of  army  enlistment  was 
nearing  its  close,  while  the  end  of  the  war  seemed 
as  remote  as  ever,  the  soldiers  were  invited  to  re- 
enlist  for  three  years  more.  It  was  not  a  tempting 
proposition.  The  men  of  our  regiment  were  in 
poor  quarters,  with  worn-out  tents  that  could  not 
protect  them  from  the  rain.  Their  clothing  was 
old,  and  they  could  get  no  new  supply.  They  were 
in  arrears  of  pay.  The  prospect  was  dark  for  any 
successful  campaigning.  On  a  stormy  day  in  Janu 
ary,  1864,  the  poorly  clad  men  stood  in  the  rain 
and  were  asked  to  pledge  themselves  for  another 
three  years  of  similar  service.  They  responded 
with  heroic  alacrity.  A  large  majority  of  those 
who  were  competent  to  service  came  forward  as 


8o  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

veteran  volunteers.  A  furlough  of  thirty  days  was 
granted  to  all  such  veterans,  and  special  transporta 
tion  was  furnished  them  by  the  government.  On 
the  Sunday  before  the  re-enlisted  men  were  to  start 
on  their  home  furlough,  I  preached  a  sermon  to 
them  in  the  Presbyterian  Church  at  St.  Augustine, 
Florida.  My  text  was  from  Mark  5  :  19, — 

"  Go  home  to  thy  friends,  and  tell  them  how 
great  things  the  Lord  hath  done  for  thee." 

Pointing  out  that  there  were  some  things  in  our 
experiences  of  God's  goodness  that  he  did  not  wish 
us  to  publish  abroad,  and  that  there  were  others 
that  he  wanted  us  to  tell  of  for  the  good  that  might 
come  of  it,  I  suggested  that  re-enlisted  veterans  had 
a  duty  to  tell  others  of  the  gain  that  had  come  to 
soldiers  in  God's  protection  of  them  thus  far,  in 
his  raising  of  their  standard  of  personal  manhood, 
and  in  his  increase  of  their  love  of  country,  as  they 
began  anew  to  serve  that  country  at  whatever  cost 
it  might  be  to  them.  In  the  spirit  of  that  counsel 
those  soldiers  went  to  their  homes  as  missionaries 
of  patriotism  and  unflinching  loyalty. 

It  was  after  months  of  severe  service  in  the  siege 
of  Charleston  that  our  regiment  had  been  ordered 
to  Florida,  to  do  guard  duty  at  St.  Augustine, 
where  was  the  convalescent  camp  and  hospital  of 
the  department.  This  was  comparatively  light  and 
easy  work.  It  was  what  soldiers  called  "a  soft 
thing."  The  climate  was  delightful.  Tropical,  or 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  8 1 

semi-tropical,  flowers  and  foliage  and  fruit  abounded. 
There  was  pleasant  society  there,  including  some 
favored  health-seekers  from  the  North,  and  there 
was  relief  from  the  constant  strain  of  more  active 
service.  It  was  for  this  reason,  indeed,  that  our 
regiment,  sadly  depleted  by  losses  in  battle,  and 
worn  down  by  prolonged  endurance  in  siege  work, 
had  been  assigned  to  duty  just  there  in  order  to 
rest  and  recuperate.  It  was  there  that  I  rejoined 
my  command  when  released  from  prison.  As  the 
spring  of  1864  opened,  after  the  return  of  our  re- 
enlisted  veterans,  preparations  were  making,  farther 
north,  for  a  fresh  and  vigorous  campaign  under 
General  Grant,  now  in  command  of  all  the  armies 
in  the  field.  Rumors  came  of  our  being  speedily 
ordered  to  Virginia,  to  co-operate  with  the  till  then 
often  unfortunate  Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  these 
rumors  were  by  no  means  generally  welcomed. 

Rest  and  inaction  among  soldiers  inevitably 
tended  to  lower  the  tone  of  zeal  and  courage.  The 
memory  of  battles,  with  their  severe  losses,  caused 
our  men  to  shrink  from  new  active  service  at  the 
front.  Companionships  of  various  sorts  formed  in 
the  place  of  our  sojourn  made,  to  some,  the  thought 
of  going  away  peculiarly  distasteful.  An  expedi 
tion  along  the  southern  coast  on  army  transports 
was  anything  but  attractive,  in  view  of  the  trying 
experiences  off  Cape  Hatteras,  and  in  the  "  Swash," 
in  the  Burnside  expedition  at  the  beginning  of  our 
regimental  service.  Murmurings  began  to  be 


§2          War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

heard  among  the  men,  and  there  were  unfavorable 
comments  on  the  part  of  too  many  of  the  officers. 
Some  said : 

"We've  done  our  share  of  fighting.  I  want 
somebody  else  to  try  it." 

"  It  isn't  fair  for  one  regiment  to  do  more  than 
any  other." 

"  Besides,  it's  no  use  for  men  to  be  killed  without 
accomplishing  anything;  and  that  seems  to  be  the 
way  in  this  war." 

Remarks  like  these  were  only  making  a  hard 
matter  worse.  We  should  have  to  go  where  we 
were  ordered,  whether  we  liked  to  or  not;  and  it 
was  my  duty  to  inspire  officers  and  men  to  their 
best  part  wherever  they  were  in  the  coming  hard 
struggle.  I  gave  notice  of  a  sermon  on  "  the  move 
to  Virginia,"  and  set  at  work  to  prepare  it.  Our 
Sunday  services  were  being  held  at  that  time  in  the 
little  Episcopal  church  just  south  of  the  plaza.  My 
text  was  from  Numbers  32  :  6, — 

"  Shall  your  brethren  go  to  war,  and  shall  ye  sit 
here?" 

The  first  third,  and  more,  of  the  sermon,  was 
simply  an  explanation  of  who  spoke  these  words, 
and  under  what  circumstances.  Without  saying 
just  what  I  was  doing,  I  naturally  selected  those 
points  in  the  Bible  story  which  tended  to  make 
more  obvious  the  parallel  between  our  case  and 
that  of  the  ancient  Israelites. 

The  children  of  Israel  were  engaged  in  a  struggle 


A  Chaplain  s  Sermons  83 

for  their  national  heritage,  which  had  been  assured 
to  their  pilgrim  fathers,  Abraham  and  Jacob.  The 
war  had  been  prolonged  beyond  all  expectation,  and 
some  of  them  had  become  tired  of  the  dragging 
contest.  A  new  campaign  was  to  open  under 
Joshua,  an  energetic  and  experienced  general.  The 
soldiers  of  Reuben  and  Gad  were  loath  to  have  a 
part  in  it,  and  wanted  to  remain  where  they  were. 
It  was  not  that  these  soldiers  lacked  courage  or 
patriotism,  but  they  felt,  for  the  time,  that  they  had 
had  as  much  fighting  as  they  cared  for.  Perhaps, 
too,  the  fact  that  their  first  move  must  be  across 
the  water,  on  the  brink  of  which  they  stood,  im 
pressed  them  unpleasantly,  in  remembrance  of  their 
earlier  Red  Sea  expedition.  At  all  events,  they  did 
not  wish  to  join  the  army  of  the  Jordan.  More 
over,  their  long  inaction  in  the  place  where  they 
were  had  tended  to  dampen  their  ardor  for  a  new 
campaign.  While  they  were  in  the  sandy  desert, 
where  they  suffered  most,  and  had  most  to  do,  they 
longed  for  an  order  to  move  forward  in  order  to 
hasten  the  end  of  the  war,  but  now  they  had  had 
a  fresh  taste  of  civilized  life.  They  had  made 
acquaintances  among  the  Midianites,  and  this  had 
not,  in  all  cases,  elevated  the  standard  of  either 
morality  or  patriotism. 

The  region  where  they  rested  was  an  attractive 
one.  Gilead  was  on  the  eastern  border  of  the  land 
for  which  they  fought,  stretching  "  unto  the  sea  of 
the  plain,  even  the  salt  sea"  (Josh.  12  :  3).  It  was 


84  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  land  of  the  cypress,  the  palm  and  the  olive,  a 
health-giving  locality.  (All  this  was  true  of  Flor 
ida.)  It  was  also  the  cattle-growing  region  of  the 
Confederate  rulers,  "a  land  for  cattle,"  and,  "be 
hold,  the  place  was  a  place  for  cattle."  (Just  before 
this  time  an  appeal  from  General  Beauregard  had 
been  made  known,  urging  the  repossession  of 
Florida  as  the  source  of  cattle  supply  for  the  Con 
federate  armies.  This  was  fresh  in  all  our  minds.) 
As  a  whole,  Gilead  was  so  desirable  a  place  for  the 
war-sick  soldiers  that  many  of  them  would  have 
been  willing  to  spend  their  days  there.  (This  was 
the  way  many  of  our  soldiers  felt.)  "And  the  chil 
dren  of  Gad  and  the  children  of  Reuben  came  and 
spake  unto  Moses,  .  .  .  saying,  ...  If  we  have  found 
grace  in  thy  sight,  let  this  land  be  given  unto  thy 
servants  for  a  possession,  and  bring  us  not  over 
Jordan." 

"  And  Moses  said  unto  the  children  of  Gad  and 
to  the  children  of  Reuben,  Shall  your  brethren  go 
to  war,  and  shall  ye  sit  here?"  Moses  knew  his 
soldiers,  knew  how  brave  and  true  they  were,  and 
he  confidently  appealed  to  their  best  nature.  He 
reminded  them  of  their  duty  to  see  this  thing 
through  before  they  turned  aside  for  anything  else. 
Nor  was  his  appeal  in  vain.  The  Reubenites  and 
Gadites  responded  loyally  to  his  call,  and  sprang 
forward  for  new  service.  They  even  asked  the 
privilege  of  doing  the  skirmishing  for  the  whole 
army  in  the  new  movement.  "We  ourselves/'  they 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  85 

said, "  will  go  ready  armed  before  the  children  of 
Israel,  until  we  have  brought  them  unto  their  place. 
.  .  .  We  will  not  return  unto  our  houses,  until  the 
children  of  Israel  have  inherited  every  man  his  in 
heritance."  "And  Moses  said  unto  them,  If  ye  will 
do  this  thing,  .  .  .  then  afterward  ye  shall  return, 
and  be  guiltless  before  the  Lord,  and  before  Israel ; 
and  this  land  shall  be  your  possession  before  the 
Lord.  But  if  ye  will  not  do  so,  behold,  ye  have 
sinned  against  the  Lord ;  and  be  sure  your  sin  will 
find  you  out." 

In  applying  this  incident  to  the  case  of  my 
hearers,  I  reminded  them  that  this  was  the  way  of 
brave  and  true  men  always.  In  a  life-and-death 
struggle  like  ours,  active  service  was  our  duty, 
active  service  was  our  pleasure,  and  active  service 
was  for  our  advantage.  Then  I  sought  to  show  how 
this  must  be  so. 

One  advantage  that  an  army  chaplain  had  over  a 
preacher  in  civil  life  was  the  fact  that  all  his  hearers 
were  in  the  same  circumstances,  and  that  they  had 
only  one  another  to  talk  to ;  they  did  not  go  from 
his  preaching  to  separate  homes,  where  they  had 
another  view  of  the  truth  put  before  them.  If  he 
could  succeed  in  swaying  the  current  of  their 
thoughts  by  his  appeals,  they  were  all  likely  to  be 
swept  on  in  the  same  direction. 

It  was  evident  that  the  Bible  parallel  set  before 
our  men  in  this  case  reached  their  hearts.  Officers 


86  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  men  vied  with  each  other  in  assurances  of  their 
agreement  with  me.  One  prominent  officer,  who 
had  been  forward  in  his  complainings  over  the 
hardships  of  the  contemplated  move,  now  said  that 
he  had  felt  this  way  all  along,  and  he  was  glad  the 
chaplain  was  looking  at  it  in  the  same  light.  My 
colonel  requested  the  sermon  for  publication,  in 
order  that  it  might  be  carefully  read  by  all  in  the 
regiment.  The  next  day  the  surgeon  in  charge  of 
the  convalescent  camp  came  to  me  asking  : 

"  Chaplain,  what  did  you  preach  about  yesterday  ? 
I  was  kept  up  until  near  midnight  making  out  dis 
charges  for  officers  who  wanted  to  go  back  to  their 
commands.  When  I  asked  the  reason,  they  said 
they  had  been  down  to  church,  and  heard  a  sermon 
that  gave  them  a  different  view  of  their  duty." 

Some  of  the  enlisted  men  said  grimly :  "  The 
chaplain's  spoiling  for  a  fight;"  but  the  current 
was  too  strong  for  any  one  to  make  head  against  it. 
The  sermon  as  printed  and  distributed  was  entitled 
"  Desirableness  of  Active  Service."  Months  after 
ward,  as  we  were  campaigning  in  Virginia,  while 
we  were  moving  by  night  to  take  our  place  in  the 
Petersburg  trenches,  we  were  overtaken  by  a  vio 
lent  thunder-storm,  so  severe  with  its  blinding 
flashes  of  lightning  and  its  torrents  of  rain  that  we 
were  compelled  to  halt  and  drop  down  in  the  mud, 
and  wait  for  daylight.  In  the  early  morning,  as  I 
moved  along  the  wavy  line  of  reclining  soldiers,  I 
was  greeted  good-naturedly  by  a  soldier  with  the 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  87 

words,  that  could  be  heard  far  and  near :  "  I  sup 
pose,  Chaplain,  this  is  what  you  would  call  the 
'  desirableness  of  ac-tlve  service.' "  Then  he 
chuckled  over  the  general  laugh  that  greeted  his 
sally. 

When  we  had  reached  Virginia,  from  Florida,  for 
a  part  in  the  forward  movement  of  the  armies  under 
General  Grant,  we  had  found  evidence  of  intended 
operations  on  a  scale  beyond  our  anticipations  or 
former  knowledge.  The  New  York  papers  were 
giving  us,  day  by  day,  such  details  of  the  prepara 
tions  for  receiving  and  caring  for  large  numbers  of 
wounded  as  were  unpleasantly  suggestive  to  old 
campaigners.  One  day  we  were  told  of  the  thou 
sands  of  additional  ambulances  and  hospital  beds 
being  delivered  at  Washington  and  City  Point,  and 
the  next  day  of  the  numbers  of  extra  surgeons  and 
nurses  summoned  to  the  front.  We  were  hardly 
landed  on  Virginia  soil  before  we  began  marching 
and  fighting.  Weeks  passed  before  it  was  possible 
to  gather  the  regiment  for  a  religious  service  on 
Sunday.  Our  heads  were  fairly  dazed  with  the  rush 
and  whirl  of  active  hostilities,  and  all  realized  that 
we  were  fairly  in  a  conflict  that  could  not  cease 
until  the  end  of  the  war  had  come  in  one  way  or 
another. 

By  and  by  a  quieter  Sunday  came.  Those  of  the 
regiment  who  could  attend  gathered,  at  the  "church 
call "  of  the  colonel's  bugler,  in  a  lovely  shaded 
ravine  near  Deep  Bottom,  on  the  left  bank  of  the 


88  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

James  River.  My  standing-place  was  a  rude  plat 
form  of  rails,  on  a  boulder  in  the  gurgling  brook 
that  runs  through  the  ravine.  A  steep,  but  not 
high,  bank  with  overhanging  trees  rose  immediately 
behind  me.  My  audience  was  grouped  pictu 
resquely  before,  on  either  hand,  and  above  me,  on 
the  banks  and  on  the  rocks  between.  A  beautiful 
vista  of  rippling  water,  sparkling  in  the  sunlight 
which  struggled  through  the  trees  above,  yet  in  the 
cool  shade  of  the  deep  ravine,  stretched  away  into 
the  background  at  my  right.  The  sweet,  soft 
music  of  our  well -trained  band  floated  upward 
through  the  waving  trees,  accompanying  the  full 
chorus  of  manly  soldier  voices,  in  the  familiar  tunes 
of  "  Coronation  "  and  "  Shining  Shore  :  " 

"All  hail,  the  power  of  Jesus'  name!  .  .  . 

And  crown  him  Lord  of  all ;  " 
and 

"  My  days  are  gliding  swiftly  by,  .  .  . 
Those  hours  of  toil  and  danger, — " 

seemed  never  to  have  more  meaning,  or  to  be  spo 
ken  out  of  more  earnest  and  tender  hearts,  than  in 
that  first  complete  service  of  the  opening  of  that 
closing  year  of  deadliest  conflict.  God  seemed 
very  near  to  us  as  we  joined  in  simple  prayer  to  him 
at  that  time,  and  considered  together  the  teaching 
of  his  words  in  Luke  21  :  28, — 

"  When  these  things  begin  to  come  to  pass,  then 
look  up,  and  lift  up  your  heads ;  for  your  redemp 
tion  draweth  nigh." 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  89 

"These  things."  What  things?  A  fair  sky? 
Sunrise  glory  ?  The  brightness  of  an  opening  sum 
mer's  day?  No,  no.  Clouds  and  gloom.  Storm 
and  desolateness.  The  chilly  darkness  of  a  winter's 
night.  "  Wars  and  commotions."  The  holy  city 
"  compassed  with  armies."  "  Fearful  sights  and 
great  signs."  "  Days  of  vengeance."  "  Great  dis 
tress  in  the  land."  Many  falling  "  by  the  edge  of 
the  sword."  Others  "  led  away  captive."  "  Men's 
hearts  failing  them  for  fear,  and  for  looking  after 
those  things  which  are  coming  on  the  earth."  "And 
when  these  things,"  said  Jesus,  "  begin  to  come  to 
pass,  then  look  up,  and  lift  up  your  heads ;  for 
your  redemption  draweth  nigh." 

Strange  prophecy  !  Marvelous  words  !  And 
yet  neither  strange  nor  marvelous  ;  for  this  is  ever 
God's  way.  No  time  of  rest  without  previous  toil. 
No  peace  but  after  strife.  No  order  except  out  of 
confusion.  "The  evening  and  the  morning  were 
the  first  day ; "  not  the  morning  and  the  evening, 
but  the  evening  and  the  morning.  So  it  was  in 
the  beginning ;  so  it  ever  will  be.  Night  first ; 
then  day.  "  The  darkest  hour  of  the  night  is  just 
before  day."  That  hour  is  on  us.  Daylight  comes. 
Let  us  lift  up  our  heads,  for  the  day  of  our  coun 
try's  redemption  draweth  nigh. 

The  Presidential  election  of  1 864,  with  Abraham 
Lincoln  and  General  McClellan  as  opposing  candi 
dates,  caused  disturbances  among  civilians  at  home, 


90  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  strong  feeling  among  soldiers  at  the  front.  A 
fear  of  fresh  riots  in  New  York  led  to  the  ordering 
of  troops  to  that  city,  from  Virginia,  under  General 
Butler.  The  men  of  our  command  had  already 
built  their  huts  for  winter  occupation  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  James,  and  arranged  to  make  them 
selves  as  comfortable  as  they  could  in  the  months 
of  inaction  which  must  naturally  follow,  when  sud 
denly  they  were  ordered  on  board  transports  to  the 
waters  of  New  York  harbor.  There  they  were  com 
pelled  to  wait  within  sight  of  shore,  and  but  a  few 
hours'  distance  from  their  homes,  without  the  privi 
lege  of  landing,  and  with  all  the  discomforts  of 
army  transport  life. 

Returning,  after  the  re-election  of  President  Lin 
coln,  they  found  their  winter  quarters  occupied  by 
other  troops  ;  and  they  were  compelled  to  begin 
anew,  in  the  rain  and  mud  of  the  opening  winter, 
to  provide  for  themselves,  as  best  they  could,  with  a 
poorer  location,  and  with  scantier  supplies  of  wood 
for  their  huts.  Such  an  experience  was  trying,  at 
the  best,  and  was  aggravated  by  the  fact  that  it  was 
occasioned  by  the  action  of  Northern  opponents 
of  the  government,  or  by  lukewarm  sympathizers 
with  their  cause,  when  more  open  and  manly  foes 
at  the  South  demanded  the  best  energies  of  the 
loyal  and  patriotic  soldiers.  I  faced  a  regiment 
of  sad-hearted  men  when  I  stood  up  to  preach  my 
first  sermon  to  them  after  our  return,  in  the  driz 
zling  rain  of  a  wintry  Sunday  morning,  in  the  wet 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  91 

and  chilly  woods  of  Virginia.     My  text  was  from 
2  Chronicles  13  :  14, — 

"  Behold,  the  battle  was  before  and  behind." 
These  words  were  spoken  of  a  time  when  there 
was  civil  war  among  God's  chosen  people,  and  the 
ruler  of  that  people  found  himself  with  an  army  of 
brave  soldiers  in  his  front,  and  an  "  ambushment  " 
in  his  rear,  under  the  lead  of  a  commander  who 
had  been  an  honored  soldier  of  the  government, 
but  who  now  aspired  to  the  chief  rule.  In  this 
conflict  the  supporters  of  the  administration  "  cried 
unto  the  Lord,  and  the  priests  " — all  of  them  being 
on  the  side  of  the  government — "  sounded  with  the 
trumpets.  Then  the  men  of  Judah  [the  loyalists] 
gave  a  shout :  and  as  the  men  of  Judah  shouted," 
— expressing  in  this  way  their  minds  in  favor  of 
continued  war  against  rebels  in  arms, —  "it  came 
to  pass,  that  God  smote  Jeroboam  [the  leader 
against  the  national  administration]  and  all  Israel 
before  Abijah  [the  legitimate  ruler]  and  Judah.  .  .  . 
And  God  delivered  them  into  their  hand."  "  Neither 
did  Jeroboam  recover  strength  again  in  the  days 
of  Abijah.  .  .  .  But  Abijah  waxed  mighty  .  .  .  and 
Judah  was  prospered."  And  by  and  by  "  the  Lord 
gave  them  rest,"  and  there  was  "  no  more  war ;  " 
for  God  gave  his  people  triumph,  even  while  "the 
battle  was  before  and  behind." 

With  the  fall   of  Richmond  and  the  surrender 
of  General  Lee  at  Appomattox  Court  House,  yet 


92  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

other  conditions  faced  the  soldiers  and  their  chap 
lains.  My  regiment  was  assigned  to  duty  at  the 
captured  Confederate  capital.  Strange  sights  and 
sounds  greeted  us  there.  The  sudden  collapse  of 
the  Confederate  government  had  carried  down,  for 
the  time,  the  entire  social  system  of  its  metropolis. 
All  ordinary  occupations  were  gone.  What  money 
was  available  had  now  no  value.  Those  who  had 
had  assured  positions  and  wealth,  or  a  competency, 
found  themselves  penniless,  with  nothing  to  do,  and 
no  possibility  of  employment  Families  until  now 
prominent  in  social  life  and  in  official  circles  were 
dependent  on  the  bounty  of  the  Federal  govern 
ment  for  the  food  necessaiy  to  keep  them  from 
actual  starvation.  On  the  other  hand,  the  entire 
slave  population  was  jubilant  and  demonstrative 
over  its  newly  found  freedom. 

In  view  of  such  facts  as  these  I  preached  on 
my  first  Sunday  in  Richmond.  Officers  and  men 
stood  together  in  a  field  of  bivouac  on  the  edge 
of  the  city,  and  out  of  my  wonderment,  to  the  men 
in  their  wonderment,  I  spoke  from  the  words  in 
Ecclesiastes  10  :  7, — 

"  I  have  seen  servants  upon  horses,  and  princes 
walking  as  servants  upon  the  earth." 

While  rejoicings  over  victory  were  at  their 
height,  in  the  army  and  throughout  the  country, 
the  foul  assassination  of  President  Lincoln  cast 
gloom  over  all,  and  brought  bitterness  to  every 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  93 

loyal  soul.  Joy  and  sorrow  struggled  together  for 
expression.  "  It  was  the  uttermost  of  joy  :  it  was 
the  uttermost  of  sorrow — noon  and  midnight  with 
out  a  space  between."  Hearts  that  were  grateful 
for  restored  peace  stayed  their  throbs  of  gladness 
as  the  funeral  of  the  martyr  President  passed  in 
slow  solemnity  from  Washington  to  Springfield. 
Instead  of  national  illuminations,  the  new  President 
proclaimed  a  day  of  national  fasting.  On  that  day 
I  preached  from  the  words  in  Ezra  3  :  13, — 

"  The  people  could  not  discern  the  noise  of  the 
shout  of  joy  from  the  noise  of  the  weeping  of  the 
people." 

After  Lee's  surrender  it  was  hard  for  soldiers  to 
realize  that  the  cessation  of  active  hostilities  did 
not  imply  the  immediate  disbanding  of  the  armies, 
still  needed  to  maintain  order  and  to  aid  in  the  re 
establishing  of  authority  in  the  territory  suddenly 
left  without  even  the  form  of  local  or  national 
government.  The  men  were  impatient  to  return  to 
their  homes,  now  that  the  war  was  over,  as  they 
understood  it.  It  was  a  new  call  to  patient  endur 
ance  that  came  to  them,  and  that  the  chaplain  must 
press  and  strive  to  make  clear.  My  sermons  for 
the  time  were  from  such  texts  as 

"  But  the  end  is  not  yet "  (Matt  24  :  6). 

"  It  is  not  for  you  to  know  the  times  or  the  sea 
sons,  which  the  Father  hath  put  in  his  own  power  " 
(Acts  i  :  7). 


94  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

"  For  yet  the  end  shall  be  at  the  time  appointed  " 
(Dan.  1 1  :  27),  coupled  with,  "  He  that  endureth  to 
the  end  shall  be  saved  "  (Matt.  10  :  22). 

By  and  by  the  men  became  more  restless.  They 
thought  that  the  terms  of  their  enlistment,  for 
"during  the  war,"  justified  them  in  supposing  that 
they  were  entitled  to  an  immediate  discharge,  and 
they  talked  over  among  themselves  the  propriety 
of  going  home  "  without  leave," — they  would  not 
call  it  "  deserting."  This  feeling  of  restiveness  was 
widespread  in  the  army.  While  I  was  absent  from 
my  regiment  for  a  few  days  on  business,  a  govern 
ment  paymaster  came  and  paid  the  men  of  our 
command  up  to  date.  Returning  on  a  Thursday 
evening,  just  as  the  paymaster's  work  was  com 
pleted,  I  found  that  quite  a  number  of  our  men  had 
already  left,  and  that  the  fever  of  desertion  was 
rapidly  spreading.  At  once  I  set  to  work  among 
the  men,  striving  to  show  them  the  folly  and 
wrong  of  such  a  course.  That  evening  and  the 
next  two  days  I  persevered  among  them  in  per 
sonal  discussion  and  entreaties.  I  found  that  they 
thought  their  only  loss  by  desertion  at  this  time 
would  be  their  "  honorable  discharge,"  and  that  a 
regard  for  that  was  only  a  minor  sentiment  They 
were  willing  to  risk  it.  On  Sunday  the  colonel 
ordered  a  regimental  attendance  at  chapel  service, 
instead  of  leaving  it  as  a  matter  of  choice  as  usual, 
so  that  I  might  address  the  men  collectively  on  the 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  95 

subject.  Officers  and  enlisted  men  were  all  pres 
ent  My  text  was  from  Genesis  25  :  32, — 

"  And  Esau  said,  Behold  I  am  at  the  point  to 
die:  and  what  profit  shall  this  birthright  do  to 
me?" 

I  pointed  out  the  folly  of  Esau's  reasoning  and 
the  cost  of  his  bad  bargain  with  Jacob.  Esau  had 
some  fine  qualities  and  generous  traits  in  compari 
son  with  the  close-fisted  shrewdness  of  Jacob  ;  but 
Esau  thought  more  of  present  comfort  than  of  a 
good  name  that  had  its  chief  value  in  the  future, 
while  Jacob  thought  more  of  the  future  than  of  the 
present.  Esau  bartered  an  honorable  record  for 
one  square  meal,  and  the  shame  of  his  foolish  bar 
gain  stuck  to  him  and  to  his  children  thencefor 
ward.  His  square  meal  was  of  red  pottage,  and 
they  called  him  by  a  name  ("  Edom," — "  Red,") 
that  brought  red  pottage  to  mind.  His  children 
were,  as  it  were,  called  Little  Red  Pottagers, — 
"  Edomites." 

This  lesson  of  Esau  had  its  teachings  for  soldier 
veterans.  Their  birthright  was  an  honorable  dis 
charge.  To  barter  that  for  a  few  more  days  or 
weeks  of  home  enjoyment  would  be  to  swap  a  good 
name  for  a  deserter's  shame.  It  were  easy  now  for 
a  veteran,  going  home  without  leave,  to  face  his 
comrades,  who  knew  the  whole  story ;  but  it 
would  be  very  different  a  few  years  hence,  when 
his  little  child  came  home  crying  from  her  school  in 
the  country,  saying  :  "  Papa,  were  you  a  deserter  ? 


96  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

They  called  me  a  deserter's  daughter."     His  bar 
gain  would  seem  a  sorry  one  then. 

The  truth  thus  pressed  home  had  its  effect  on  the 
soldier  heart.  The  tide  of  desertion  was  stayed. 
And  soon  we  were  all  mustered  out  together.  As 
illustrating  the  effect  of  this  sermon  on  those  who 
listened  to  it,  one  of  the  soldiers  was  heard  to  say 
to  a  companion :  "  I  don't  know  as  I  should  have 
deserted  anyway,  but,  by  thunder!  when  the  chap 
lain  told  about  that  little  girl  coming  home  from 
school  crying,  I  thought  I'd  die  before  I'd  desert." 

There  was  rejoicing  in  camp  when,  one  after 
noon,  word  came  that  the  order  for  our  muster  out 
had  been  received  by  General  Terry,  our  depart 
ment  commander,  and  that  in  a  few  days  more  we 
should  be  on  our  way  home.  It  was  then  that,  as 
their  chaplain,  I  spoke  parting  words  to  the  men 
from  i  Kings  22  :  36, — 

"  And  there  went  a  proclamation  throughout  the 
host  about  the  going  down  of  the  sun,  saying, 
Every  man  to  his  city,  and  every  man  to  his  own 
country." 

It  was  a  welcome  proclamation  that  told  the  men 
of  Israel  that,  the  war  being  over,  they  could  "  re 
turn  every  man  to  his  house  in  peace."  The  mes 
sage  was  then,  as  now,  to  each  soldier,  to  go  to  his 
redeemed  country,  and  to  his  dwelling-place,  or 
home,  within  it.  And  we  were  called  to  like  re 
joicing.  Our  country  was  a  new  country,  and  it 


A  Chaplain  s  Sermons  97 

was  newly  our  country,  after  our  part  in  its  resto 
ration  and  uplifting.  A  new  responsibility  was  on 
us  to  keep  it  worthy  of  its  new  honor  before  the 
world.  Our  homes  were  dearer  to  us  than  ever 
before,  and  we  had  a  new  duty  to  make  them 
happy  homes,  and  to  set  a  worthy  example  in  them 
by  our  patriotic  and  godly  conduct  and  bearing. 

In  telling  of  these  army  sermons,  I  naturally  give 
prominence  to  such  as  will  bring  out  the  soldier 
side  of  active  service ;  but  it  is  not  to  be  supposed 
that  there  was  a  lack  of  ordinary  appeals  to  the 
soldiers  as  men  in  the  sphere  of  their  moral  and 
religious  natures.  Sermons  of  that  sort  are  suited 
to  men's  wants  everywhere;  they  need  not  be 
dwelt  upon  in  this  sketch  of  an  army  chaplain's 
sermons  to  soldiers  as  soldiers,  but  they  were  even 
more  frequent  than  the  other  kind.  Yet  even  these 
sermons  must  be  adapted  to  the  peculiar  needs  and 
tastes  of  soldiers.  The  same  religious  truth  must 
be  differently  presented  to  soldiers  in  the  field,  and 
to  civilians  at  home. 

For  example,  when  we  were  in  winter  quarters 
before  Richmond,  in  the  last  year  of  the  war,  and 
the  men  were  under  special  temptations  to  lower 
their  moral  tone  in  a  time  of  inaction,  I  preached 
from  the  words  in  Jeremiah  36  :  24, — 

"  Yet  they  were  not  afraid." 

As  I  had  preached  so  often  on  the  duty  of  per 
sonal  courage,  there  was  peculiar  force  in  the  sug- 


98  War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


gestion  that  it  was  to  a  soldier's  discredit  not 
to  know  enough  to  be  afraid  when  he  ought  to  be. 
It  was  clearly  a  soldier's  duty  to  be  afraid  of  defy 
ing  God,  and  to  be  afraid  of  the  consequences  of 
evil.  Whatever  other  battling  we  were  called  to, 
we  ought  always  to  be  at  peace  with  God. 

At  another  time  I  preached  on  "  Soldiers'  Grum 
bling  :  What  Causes  and  What  Comes  of  It."  My 
text  was  from  Exodus  16  :  2, — 

"  And  the  whole  congregation  of  the  children  of 
Israel  murmured  against  Moses  and  Aaron  in  the 
wilderness." 

I  pointed  out  that  men  in  such  a  mode  of  life 
as  the  Israelites  in  the  wilderness,  and  as  our  sol 
diers  in  campaigning,  were  peculiarly  prone  to  find 
causes  for  grumbling,  and  to  grumble  accordingly. 
I  showed  by  illustrations  from  our  own  experience 
that  men  were  less  likely  to  grumble  when  they 
had  the  hardest  life  to  lead ;  and  I  reminded  them 
that  matters  were  never  bettered,  but  only  made 
worse,  by  grumbling. 

Some  may  wonder  how  it  happens  that  I  still 
have  full  notes  of  sermons  preached  in  my  army 
life  thirty  years  ago  and  more ;  and  it  may  sur 
prise  them  to  learn  that  I  usually  wrote  out  my 
sermons  before  delivery,  in  camp,  in  field,  or  in 
prison.  Before  entering  the  army  I  had  always 
been  accustomed  to  extemporaneous  address.  I 
had  never  used  a  manuscript  until  then,  but  I 


A  Chaplain  s  Sermons  99 

now  cultivated  the  habit  of  writing,  for  very  good 
reasons.  I  was  with  the  men  constantly  through 
the  week.  They  were  accustomed  to  hear  me  speak 
informally,  day  by  day.  If  I  did  the  same  thing  at 
a  formal  Sunday  service  it  would  seem  less  of  an 
affair  than  if  I  came  before  them  with  something 
specially  prepared  for  the  occasion.  Moreover,  I 
needed  the  stimulus  of  careful  preparation  in  writ 
ing  and  phrasing,  growing  out  of  the  lack  of  oppor 
tunity  of  reading  and  study. 

Indeed,  I  soon  found  out  that  officers  and  men 
would  come  out  in  larger  numbers  when  they  knew 
I  had  a  written  discourse  instead  of  an  extempore 
address.  One  Sunday  morning,  as  I  was  preach 
ing  without  notes,  a  soldier  came  to  the  entrance 
of  the  chapel-tent,  and,  looking  in,  said  to  a  com 
rade  :  "  Pshaw !  he  is  only  talking.  I  thought  he 
was  preaching,"  and  turned  away  in  disgust. 

It  was  not  always  easy  to  find  the  time  or  place 
for  fresh  sermon -writing,  but  this  only  increased 
its  value  when  found.  In  the  autumn  of  1864,  we 
were  to  withdraw  from  the  trenches  before  Peters 
burg  during  the  night  of  Saturday.  The  next  day 
I  was  to  speak  parting  words  to  those  men  whose 
term  of  three  years'  service  had  just  expired,  and 
who  were  now  going  to  their  homes.  I  sat,  under 
the  siege  firing,  until  midnight,  in  a  splinter-proof, 
writing  on  my  sermon  by  the  light  of  a  candle 
stuck  in  the  fuse-hole  of  the  upper  half  of  a  spheri 
cal  case  shot.  When  we  had  withdrawn  from  the 


ioo         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

line  of  works  and  had  reached  our  field  of  bivouac, 
some  distance  at  the  rear,  I  preached  to  those  men 
from  Joshua  22  :  3, — 

"  Ye  have  not  left  your  brethren  these  many  days 
unto  this  day,  but  have  kept  the  charge  of  the  com 
mandment  of  the  Lord  your  God." 

This  was  a  companion  sermon  to  the  appeal  to 
active  service  made  to  the  same  men  a  few  months 
before  at  St.  Augustine ;  and,  like  that,  it  was,  at  the 
request  of  the  hearers,  printed  for  their  use,  from 
the  manuscript  copy  thus  prepared  in  the  trenches. 

I  came  to  love  more  and  more  my  soldier  hear 
ers,  and  to  honor  them  the  more  as  I  better  knew 
them.  The  suggestion  that  I  frequently  heard 
from  civilians,  that  army  life  was  essentially  de 
moralizing,  and  that  soldiers  were  peculiarly  ad 
dicted  to  profanity  and  intemperance  and  dishonesty, 
and  other  vices,  aroused  me  to  honest  indignation, 
and  I  wrote  and  spoke  on  the  subject  freely  as  I  had 
opportunity  to  reach  those  who  were  influential  in 
shaping  public  sentiment  at  home.  Finally  I  had 
an  opportunity  to  preach  a  special  sermon  for  the 
soldiers,  as  I  had  preached  many  a  special  sermon 
to  the  soldiers.  Being  at  my  home  in  Hartford, 
at  the  funeral  of  my  brother,  Lieutenant -Colonel 
Trumbull,  just  before  the  close  of  the  war,  I  was 
urged  by  the  Rev.  Dr.  Horace  Bushnell  to  preach 
on  this  subject,  as  he  had  become  interested  in  my 
peculiar  views.  He  arranged  for  the  meeting  in  the 


A  Chaplain's  Sermons  101 

church  where  he  had  long  been  pastor,  and  called 
special  attention  to  it,  in  advance,  in  The  Hartford 
Courant.  My  text  was  from  Jeremiah  35  :  10, — 
"  We  have  dwelt  in  tents,  and  have  obeyed." 
It  was  when  Jeremiah  was  discouraged  about  the 
low  state  of  morals  and  manhood  in  Israel,  and  was 
inclined  to  feel  that  none  could  be  depended  on  as 
upright  and  true,  that  the  Lord  told  him  to  bring 
the  sons  of  Rechab  from  their  life  in  the  open  field, 
and  offer  them  wine  and  other  luxuries  of  the  city. 
He  did  so,  but  they  rejected  the  temptation,  telling 
of  their  fidelity  to  the  injunction  of  their  ancestor, 
and  saying,  "  We  have  dwelt  in  tents,  and  have 
obeyed."  Their  loyalty  and  abstinence  cheered  the 
heart  of  the  prophet,  and  was  an  example  and  an 
encouragement  to  others ;  and  from  that  time  to 
this  the  truest  men  in  any  time  of  general  declen 
sion  of  morals  have  been  those  who  lived  lives  of 
active  service,  in  privation  and  under  discipline. 

I  pointed  out  the  elements  of  soldier  service  as 
tending  to  the  development  of  manhood,  as  de 
manding  unselfish  devotion  to  an  object  in  life, 
obedience  to  orders,  a  high  sense  of  responsibility, 
and  interdependence  on  others  in  co-operation  in  a 
holy  cause.  War  was  terrible;  but,  war  existing, 
those  who  suffered  most  from  its  demoralizing  in 
fluence  were  not  those  who  went  to  the  front  to 
put  it  down,  at  the  cost  of  their  lives  if  need  be, 
but  those  who  remained  at  the  rear,  intent  on 
money-getting  and  personal  safety. 


IO2         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

History  was  cited  in  proof  of  this  view  of  the 
case,  in  the  character,  as  shown  in  their  later  life, 
of  Cromwell's  old  soldiers,  of  the  veterans  of  the 
American  Revolution,  and  of  other  surviving  cam 
paigners  of  a  righteous  war.  Of  the  soldiers  in 
our  Civil  War,  both  North  and  South,  those  who 
knew  them  best  were  surest  that  their  moral  stan 
dard  improved  with  their  length  of  service.  Pro 
fanity  was  rarer  in  our  camps  than  in  the  average 
city  street  at  the  North.  So  rare  was  it,  indeed, 
that  a  common  remark  of  old  soldiers  was,  on 
hearing  blatant  profanity,  "You  swear  like  a  new 
recruit."  As  to  drunkenness,  there  were  no  open 
saloons  within  the  army  lines,  and,  in  consequence, 
no  temptation  to  drink,  in  the  ordinary  walk  of  a 
soldier's  life.  And  as  to  dishonesty,  the  feeling  of 
honor  and  of  comradeship  made  it  almost  unknown 
in  the  army.  At  one  time  a  squad  of  ten  recruits 
came  to  our  regiment  in  Florida.  Soon  after,  a 
theft  in  camp  was  reported.  At  once  the  tents  of 
only  those  recruits  were  searched,  and  the  stolen 
property  was  recovered.  No  one  thought  of  that 
theft  as  perpetrated  by  an  old  soldier. 

At  a  gathering  of  chaplains  of  the  Army  of  the 
James,  during  the  last  year  of  the  war,  this  sub 
ject  of  the  influence  of  army  life  was  under  free 
discussion.  One  of  the  older  chaplains  gave  his 
experience.  He  had  heard  so  much  said  of  the 
deterioration  of  character  under  the  temptations  of 
army  life  before  he  entered  service,  that  he  had 


A  Chaplains  Sermons  103 

actually  dreaded  its  effect  on  himself  as  he  came 
to  do  his  Master's  work  there.  But  he  had  felt  the 
uplifting  power  of  army  life  in  his  own  soul,  and  he 
had  seen  it  on  others  to  an  extent  that  he  had  never 
dreamed  of  as  possible.  One  of  his  sons  was  an 
enlisted  man,  and  at  first  he  had  feared  for  him; 
but  he  had  seen  him  gain  and  grow  under  the 
prevalent  influences  in  the  army,  and  now  he  was 
wishing  and  praying  that  his  second  son  would 
also  enlist,  so  as  to  have  the  benefit  of  these  ele 
vating  influences  on  his  personal  character.  When 
I  had  spoken  incidentally  on  this  subject  at  a 
public  meeting  in  New  Haven,  during  the  latter 
part  of  the  war,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Leonard  Bacon,  who 
was  in  the  pulpit,  said  to  me  after  the  service : 
"  What  you  say  about  army  life  is  quite  new  to  me, 
but  I  accept  the  truth  of  it  at  once.  I  remember 
that  in  my  boyhood  days  there  were  a  few  Revolu 
tionary  soldiers  in  our  home  community,  and  every 
man  of  them  was  morally  a  head  and  shoulders 
above  his  fellows.  I  think  it  will  be  so  among  the 
veterans  of  this  war." 

I  emphasized  the  fact  that  our  soldiers  were  en 
nobled  by  their  ennobling  army  service,  and  that 
they  grew  more  manly  day  by  day,  while  men  of  a 
corresponding  grade  in  social  life  at  the  rear,  who 
could  have  gone  but  would  not  go,  were  deteriorat 
ing  as  the  war  dragged  on.  My  appeal  to  those  at 
home  was  to  welcome  the  veterans  on  their  return 
from  the  war  as  those  who  were  better  men  than 


IO4         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


when  they  went  out,  and  to  see  to  it  that  their  high 
soldier  standard  was  not  lowered  by  the  tempta 
tions  and  demoralizing  influence  of  the  social  life 
at  home. 

All  my  army  service,  all  my  chaplain  experience, 
tended  to  confirm  my  conviction  that  what  I  said 
in  this  sermon,  for  the  veteran  soldiers  of  our  Civil 
War,  was  the  truth.  This  seemed  so  as  I  viewed 
them  then  from  my  chaplain's  standpoint,  and  it 
seems  so  now  as  they  have  come  to  be  viewed  by 
their  fellow-citizens  generally  in  the  more  than 
thirty  years  that  have  intervened  since  then. 


CHAPTER  V 
A  CHAPLAIN'S  PASTORAL  WORK 

A  chaplain's  parish  is  wherever  he  and  his 
parishioners  are.  It  may  be  on  land  or  at  sea.  It 
includes  the  camp,  the  barracks,  the  bivouac,  the 
battle-field,  the  trenches,  the  picket-line,  the  hos 
pital,  the  guard  quarters,  the  provost -marshal's 
stockade,  the  army  transport,  the  enemy's  military 
prison.  Whether  marching,  fighting,  or  resting;  in 
malarial  swamps,  on  the  sandy  beach,  along  muddy 
roads,  on  the  vessel's  deck,  at  parade  or  review, — 
wherever  the  soldiers  are,  and  whatever  they  are 
doing,  they  are  the  chaplain's  parishioners,  and  his 
incidental  service  with  them  and  for  them  is  the 
chaplain's  pastoral  work. 

An  ordinary  pastor  has  his  parsonage,  from  which 
he  goes  out  into  his  parish  to  visit  his  parishioners 
at  their  homes  or  at  their  work,  and  to  which  he 
returns  when  his  pastoral  work  is  done  for  the  time 
being.  His  people  see  but  little  of  him  except 
when  he  comes  among  them  officially,  or  when 
they  call  upon  him  for  some  special  service.  They 
are  not  always  with  him.  He  is  not  one  with  them 
in  everything.  Here  is  where  a  chaplain  differs 

105 


io6         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

from  an  ordinary  minister.  The  chaplain  lives 
among  his  people  all  the  time.  They  know  him  as 
he  is,  and  he  knows  them  as  they  are.  His  per 
sonal,  every-day  life  is  even  a  larger  factor  in  his 
influence  over  them  than  it  can  be  with  a  home 
pastor.  His  ordinary  conversation  is  heard  at  all 
times  by  some  of  his  parishioners.  His  every 
sentence  is  part  of  his  regular  preaching.  The 
incidents  of  his  pastoral  work  include  humdrum 
experiences,  and  also  thrilling  moments  of  life-and- 
death  happenings. 

If  a  chaplain  is  with  his  men  on  a  march,  he  has 
opportunities  of  pleasant  chat  with  them  as  they 
move  along  the  road.  If  he  shares  the  exposures 
and  endurances  of  siege  life  in  the  trenches,  or  on 
ordinary  picket  duty,  or  is  near  them  when  they  go 
into  battle,  whatever  moral  force  he  exercises  is  at 
its  best.  He  can  do  much  to  keep  up  their  courage, 
and  spirits,  and  standards  of  conduct.  And  there 
may  be  occasions  for  him  to  be  of  personal  service 
in  ministry  to  them  in  their  death-hour,  or  in  sending 
them  back  to  the  rear  when  wounded. 

When  we  went  on  picket  at  the  front,  I  was 
accustomed  to  be  with  the  officer  in  command  at 
the  picket  reserve,  and  with  the  colonel's  consent  I 
would  say  a  few  words  to  the  men  before  they  left 
the  reserve  for  their  places  along  the  line. 

"I  just  want  to  say  that  the  Colonel  has  detailed 
me,  as  the  chaplain,  to  do  whatever  swearing  is 
necessary  on  this  round  of  picket  duty.  So  if  any 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         107 

of  you  men  think  there  is  a  call  for  something  in 
that  line,  just  send  for  me,  and  I'll  attend  to  it." 

This  announcement  enabled  me  afterwards,  as  I 
moved  along  the  line,  if  I  heard  a  profane  word,  to 
call  out  to  the  speaker : 

"  Look  out  there  !  You  are  interfering  with  the 
chaplain's  work.  He'll  attend  to  all  the  swearing 
that  needs  to  be  done." 

The  men  themselves  would  enter  into  the  spirit 
of  this  arrangement,  and  they  would  call  a  man  to 
order  if  he  swore  on  the  picket-line: 

"  Mind  your  own  business  there !  Don't  be  doing 
the  chaplain's  work." 

It  was  natural  for  soldiers  to  value  the  presence 
of  a  chaplain,  when  they  were  going  out  into  a  life- 
and-death  struggle.  They  felt  stronger  if  one  whom 
they  looked  to  as  God's  representative  was  near 
them  at  such  a  time.  A  rough  captain  said  to  a 
gentleman  who  asked  him  about  his  chaplain,  at 
one  time  when  he  was  at  home  on  leave : 

"We  count  our  chaplain  as  good  as  a  hundred 
men  in  a  fight,  because  the  men  fight  so  much  better 
when  he's  with  'em." 

There  were  indeed  times  when  they  had  occasion 
to  see  the  value  of  a  chaplain's  presence,  and  when 
he  had  the  opportunity  of  standing  between  a 
parishioner  and  death.  In  an  interval  between 
engagements  on  the  front,  in  Virginia,  in  August, 
1864,  the  men  of  our  brigade  were  lying  down,  or 
sitting  up,  in  the  open  woods  back  of  a  hastily 


io8         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

constructed  line  of  works.  Bullets  were  whistling 
through  the  air,  and  an  occasional  shell  shrieked 
past  us  over  our  heads.  We  had  at  that  time  in 
the  war  become  strangely  familiar  with  the  various 
sounds  of  flying  bullets.  We  could  tell  the  differ 
ence  between  the  "  whish  "  of  a  smooth-bore  musket- 
ball  and  the  spiteful  "tsse"  of  a  minie-rifle  bullet. 
We  knew  when  its  force  was  nearly  spent,  and  when 
it  was  flying  at  deadly  speed.  We  could  measure 
also  quite  accurately  its  relative  distance  from  us. 
If  it  struck  near  by,  we  knew  the  "thud"  of  a  tree 
cushion  from  the  "hub"  of  a  ground  stroke.  And, 
more  than  all,  we  could  detect  the  ominous  silence 
of  a  bullet  interrupted  in  mid-flight,  as  it  noiselessly 
buried  itself  in  a  human  body. 

As  I  sat  that  morning  with  my  face  toward  the 
earthworks,  hurriedly  writing  on  a  home  letter,  I 
heard  that  peculiar  sound,  or  that  cessation  of 
sound,  that  told  me  a  man  was  hit  very  near  me. 
Starting  up  and  looking  behind  me,  I  saw  a  young 
officer  who  had  received  the  bullet,  and  the  blood 
was  spurting  up  from  the  wound  in  his  neck.  He 
was  on  his  back,  his  eyes  were  closed,  and  the  look 
of  death  seemed  already  on  his  face.  Thrusting 
my  thumb  and  finger  into  the  gaping  wound,  as 
the  blood  spurted  up  my  wrist  I  seemed  to  catch 
his  failing  life  and  to  stop  the  blood-flow.  Feeling 
the  outgoing  of  his  life  thus  stayed,  he  looked  up, 
opened  his  eyes,  and  said  gratefully :  "  Oh !  that 
feels  good,  Chaplain." 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         109 

Looking  around  at  the  gathering  crowd,  I  said 
earnestly :  "  Run,  right,  left,  and  rear,  for  a  sur 
geon.  Hurry  now  !  hurry!" 

I  had,  as  it  were,  his  life  between  my  thumb  and 
finger.  A  slip  or  a  failure  on  my  part  would  be 
fatal  to  him.  How  long  I  must  wait  I  could  not 
tell.  Stretching  myself  out  into  as  easy  a  position 
as  possible  to  rest  my  extended  arm,  I  lay  along 
side  of  him,  and  had  a  pastoral  talk  with  a  parish 
ioner.  He  told  me  of  his  home  dear  ones,  and 
gave  me  loving  messages  for  them.  He  spoke  of 
his  personal  rest  of  faith,  and  I  prayed  with  and 
for  him  tenderly.  As  we  lay  there  in  this  life-and- 
death  embrace,  I  heard  a  movement  above  me,  and, 
looking  up,  I  saw  gladly  the  green  sash  of  a  sur 
geon. 

The  bullet  had  struck  the  sub-clavian  artery. 
My  thumb  and  finger  in  the  wound  had  proved  the 
needful  compress  to  prevent  the  outflow  of  his  life- 
blood.  The  surgeon  skilfully  took  the  matter  in 
hand.  The  artery  was  taken  up,  and  the  officer 
was  soon  on  his  way  to  the  hospital  at  the  rear. 
That  was  a  specimen  incident  in  a  chaplain's  pas 
toral  work  on  the  battle-field. 

A  chaplain,  in  his  intercourse  with  his  men,  had 
the  advantage  of  being  a  commissioned  officer, 
while  he  mingled  with  the  men  as  a  brother  man. 
The  men  were  always  glad  to  talk  with  the  chap 
lain  as  a  means  of  securing  information  of  what  was 
going  on  in  official  circles.  At  the  same  time  they 


1 10         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

enjoyed  the  privilege  of  growling  at  the  chaplain  as 
one  of  the  officers  when  things  were  not  going  on 
satisfactorily  in  the  sphere  of  their  commanders,  or 
of  the  government  This  was  a  delicate  position 
for  the  chaplain,  while  it  gave  him  an  advantage 
if  he  used  it  wisely.  He  must  necessarily  allow 
considerable  freedom  to  the  men  in  speaking  of 
their  personal  opinions  and  their  supposed  causes 
of  complaint,  yet  he  must  never  countenance  insub 
ordination  or  contempt  for  authority.  If  he  would 
be  good-natured  and  kindly  in  meeting  and  check 
ing  the  growling  spirit,  the  men  as  a  whole  would 
recognize  the  wisdom  of  his  course,  and  aid  him 
against  the  growler. 

It  was  my  habit  in  camp  to  go  from  street  to 
street  through  the  regiment  at  the  leisure  hour  of 
the  day,  after  supper  and  before  tattoo,  and  talk 
with  them  familiarly  as  they  gathered  to  meet  me 
at  the  head  of  each  company  street.  In  this  way  I 
would  draw  their  fire  of  complaints,  and  try  to  get 
them  in  good-humor  for  another  twenty-four  hours. 
In  the  fall  of  1862,  President  Lincoln  had  issued 
his  Emancipation  Proclamation.  There  was  a  good 
deal  of  feeling  about  it,  in  the  army  as  well  as  out 
side.  Not  all  were  ready  for  it.  As  I  went  to  one 
of  the  company  streets  at  that  time,  a  sergeant  ac 
costed  me,  before  the  others,  with  the  question : 

"  Chaplain,  do  you  think  President  Lincoln  had 
any  right  to  issue  that  proclamation  ?  " 

Seeing  he  was  in  no  mood  to  discuss  the  ques- 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         \  1 1 

tion,  I  replied:  "I  suppose  he  thought  he  had, 
sergeant." 

The  other  men  laughed  at  this  rejoinder,  and  the 
sergeant  said  testily : 

"  Well,  I  suppose  a  soldier's  got  a  right  to  hold 
his  own  opinions,  Chaplain, — hasn't  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  "  I  said,  "  if  he'll  take  care  and  hold 
'em,  and  not  always  be  slinging  them  around  care 
lessly  before  others." 

"  Sergeant,"  said  one  of  the  listeners, "  hadn't  you 
better  go  into  your  tent,  and  take  a  little  something 
warm,  and  lie  down  ?  " 

And  I  moved  on  to  the  next  street,  leaving  those 
men  in  better  humor  with  themselves  in  a  fresh 
view  of  their  duties  and  obligations  as  soldiers. 

There  were  strange  characters,  as  well  as  strange 
experiences,  encountered  in  my  army  parish  work. 
The  army  brought  all  sorts  of  persons  together, 
and  the  chaplain  had  to  become  acquainted  with 
and  interested  in  them  all.  While  at  St.  Augustine, 
Florida,  in  the  winter  of  1863-64,3  part  of  our  regi 
ment  did  garrison  duty  at  the  fortress  of  San  Marco, 
the  old  Spanish  coquina  fort,  with  its  bloody  mem 
ories  and  the  weird  legends  of  its  former  occupants. 
I  was  accustomed  to  hold  Sunday-school  services 
each  Sunday  afternoon,  and  also  mid-week  evening 
services  in  the  little  chapel  opposite  the  main  en 
trance  of  the  fort.  Just  outside  of  that  chapel  there 
was  a  pile  of  rusty  cannon,  on  which  men  would 
sometimes  loll  while  we  were  having  services  in- 


H2         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

side.  And  as  I  moved  about  the  fort  I  had  many 
a  talk  with  men  whom  I  rarely  met  so  familiarly 
elsewhere. 

One  day,  as  I  was  walking  through  the  fort,  my 
attention  was  drawn  to  a  strange  face  glaring 
through  an  iron-barred  opening  of  a  dungeon  door 
in  the  southwestern  corner  of  the  casemated  walls. 
It  was  the  most  repulsive  face  I  had  ever  seen. 
Low-browed,  coarse-featured,  dark-complexioned, 
with  small  black  eyes  under  shaggy  eyebrows,  and 
thick  sensuous  lips,  it  seemed  like  a  cross  between 
a  Digger  Indian  and  a  New-Zealander,  with  the 
worst  peculiarities  of  both.  The  expression  was 
one  of  low  cunning,  with  a  mixture  of  hate  and 
derision.  It  was  an  unhuman  face,  yet  the  man 
who  bore  it  was  evidently  one  of  my  parishioners 
or  he  would  not  be  where  he  was. 

"Who  are  you,  my  friend?"  I  said.  "Where  do 
you  belong?" 

He  answered  in  a  low,  gruff  voice,  as  if  he  were 
resenting  an  attack,  "  I  belong  to  the  Tenth  Con 
necticut." 

"The  Tenth  Connecticut!"  I  said.  "Why,  then 
I'm  your  chaplain,  and  I've  got  an  interest  in 
you." 

As  I  kindly  questioned  the  man,  I  found  he  had 
been  most  of  the  time  since  his  enlistment  in  con 
finement  for  insubordination,  and  therefore  I  had 
not  met  him.  After  a  brief  talk  I  left  him.  Soon 
he  was  released  from  confinement,  and  was  again 


A  Chaplain  s  Pastoral  Work         \  1 3 

with  his  comrades.  I  saw  him  occasionally  and 
spoke  to  him  kindly,  but  I  did  not  look  upon  him 
as  a  hopeful  case  in  comparison  with  others,  and 
had  little  to  say  to  him.  It  seems,  however,  that  I 
gained  more  of  a  hold  on  him  than  I  thought. 

After  a  while  we  left  Florida  for  Virginia.  As 
we  moved  up  along  the  Atlantic  coast  on  a  crowded 
transport,  this  man  came  to  me  on  the  deck  in  the 
crowd,  and  said  softly :  "  Misser  Chaplin,  I  want  to 
talk  to  you." 

"Well,  I'm  always  glad  to  talk  to  you,"  I  said. 
"But  where  can  we  go  to  talk  ?  Let  us  lean  over 
the  steamer's  rail.  That  is  our  only  place  to  talk 
by  ourselves." 

As  we  leaned  there  together,  he  told  me  his 
strange,  pathetic  story. 

"  Misser  Chaplin.  You  'member  when  you  talked 
to  me  at  the  dungeon  door.  You  spoke  kind  to 
me.  You  said  you's  my  chaplin.  I  never  forgot 
that,  Misser  Chaplin.  I'm  a  rough  fellow;  I  never 
knowed  much.  I  suppose  I'm  human,  that's  about 
all.  I  never  had  no  bringing  up.  Fust  I  knowed 
o'  myself  I  was  in  the  streets  o'  New  Orleans. 
Never  knowed  a  father  or  mother.  I  was  kicked 
about.  I  came  North  and  'listed  in  army.  I've  had 
a  hard  time  of  it.  My  cap'n  hates  the  very  groun' 
I  tread  on." 

Then  with  a  chuckle  and  a  leer,  as  he  thought 
of  his  Ishmaelitish  life,  he  said :  "  I  did  worry  my 
cap'n.  And  he  hated  me.  Ten  months  with  ball 


1 14         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  chain  !  A  hard  time  of  it.  But  what  you  said 
at  the  dungeon  door's  all  true.  And  what  you  said 
in  prayer-meetin'  is  all  true." 

"  Prayer-meeting !  "  I  said.  "  I  never  saw  you  in 
prayer-meeting." 

"No,  I  was  jus*  outside  on  those  old  cannon. 
And  now,  Misser  Chaplin,  I  want  to  do  right. 
Misser  Chaplin,  I  suppose  we's  goin'  into  a  fight, 
and  I  want  to  do  my  duty.  They  say  I'm  a 
coward.  I've  never  been  in  a  fight,  but  I  want  to 
do  my  duty." 

Then  in  a  voice  strangely  tender  in  contrast  with 
that  first  gruff  utterance  which  I  heard  from  him  in 
the  dungeon,  he  said  :  "  Misser  Chaplin,  you're  the 
only  man  who  ever  spoke  kind  to  me.  If  I  get 
killed  I  want  you  to  have  my  money.  And  if  I  get 
killed,  won't  you  have  it  writ  in  the  paper  that  Lino 
died  for  his  country  ?  " 

That  was  another  noteworthy  incident  in  a  chap 
lain's  pastoral  work.  We  reached  Virginia.  We 
were  in  a  fight.  Lino  bore  himself  so  bravely  that 
his  captain,  whom  he  had  worried  so  long,  called 
him  out  before  the  entire  company,  at  the  close 
of  the  engagement,  and  commended  him  for  his 
bravery  and  good  service.  Hearing  of  this,  I 
looked  him  up  after  the  fight  was  over,  and  con 
gratulated  him  on  his  well-doing  in  battle. 

"  You've  done  bravely,  I  hear,  Lino,  and  I'm 
glad  of  it." 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  with  a  softer  chuckle  than  be- 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         1 1 5 

fore.  "  They  called  me  coward,  but  I  tried  to  do 
my  duty.  'Tain't  always  the  frisky  ox  that's  at  the 
far  end  of  the  yoke." 

This  man  knew  little  of  the  claims  of  duty.  As 
a  friend  said  to  me  when  I  told  him  this  story,  "  the 
poor  fellow's  religious  knowledge  seems  to  have 
been  chiefly  gained  in  eavesdropping  at  a  prayer- 
meeting  ; "  but  as  far  as  he  understood  his  duty  he 
now  wanted  to  do  it.  A  chaplain's  pastoral  work 
thus  had  its  encouragements  as  well  as  its  variety. 
He  found  that  every  heart  was  human,  whatever 
its  outward  show. 

Soldiers  appreciated  the  sympathy  with  them 
shown  by  a  chaplain,  and  they  would  talk  to  him 
freely  of  their  trials  and  their  successes,  as  he  came 
to  them  in  kindly  confidence  in  their  varied  lines  of 
service.  On  a  hot  July  day  the  men  in  our  brigade 
had  been  in  a  severe  contest,  on  an  extended  skir 
mish  line  north  of  the  James,  pressing  back  the 
enemy  man  by  man,  from  tree  to  tree,  in  an  open 
wood.  At  the  close  of  the  day,  as  our  regiment 
relieved  the  Eleventh  Maine  on  this  skirmish  line, 
some  of  the  men  who  had  been  all  day  at  the  front 
were  talking  with  me  familiarly  of  the  work  they 
had  had  to  do,  as  if  they  were  sure  of  the  chaplain's 
interest  in  the  kind  of  shooting  they  had  had. 

"They've  got  some  good  fellows  out  here  in  front 
of  us,  Chaplain,"  said  one  Maine  man;  "picked 
men.  They've  given  us  good  shootin'  all  day. 
They  gave  us  good  shootin'  t'other  day  when  we 


1 1 6         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

were  over  here;  and  they've  given  us  good  shootin' 
to-day.  There  was  one  of  our  fellows ;  they  fetched 
a  flank  fire  on  him,  and  put  a  bullet  into  his  cheek 
under  the  right  eye,  and  it  came  out  over  his  t'other 
ear.  Killed  him  dead  !  And  he  was  behind  a  good 
tree  too.  That's  what  I  call  good  shootin' — bully 
good  shootin'." 

And  he  looked  to  the  chaplain  for  his  appreciative 
interest  in  this  artistic  soldier  performance.  This 
was  all  in  the  chaplain's  pastoral  work  with  his 
men.  What  had  an  interest  to  them  they  were  sure 
had  an  interest  to  him,  and  he  retained  his  hold  on 
them  by  cultivating  this  feeling  on  their  part. 

The  Christian  Commission  at  one  time  gave  me 
a  basket  of  fresh  peaches,  while  we  were  before 
Petersburg.  That  was  a  small  supply  for  several 
hundred  men.  As  we  had  no  hospital  at  the  front, 
I  distributed  the  peaches  among  the  men  on  duty 
in  the  advanced  trenches,  one  peach  to  each  man. 
As  I  went  back  over  the  line  a  little  later,  a  Con 
necticut  boy,  smacking  his  lips,  said  regretfully: 

"Chaplain,  I've  been  wishing  that  the  stone 
hadn't  been  so  big  in  that  peach  you  gave  me." 

And  it  was  an  aggravation  ! 

Officers  were  like  men  in  appreciating  a  chap 
lain's  show  of  sympathy  with  them.  One  of  my 
chaplain  friends  was  on  an  army  transport,  going 
South  with  officers  and  men  from  various  regiments. 
The  officers  were  playing  cards  in  the  cabin  from 
morning  to  night.  When  Sunday  came,  the  chap- 


A  Chaplains  Pastoral  Work         1 1 7 

lain  took  a  good  supply  of  reading-matter  from  his 
cabin,  and  was  on  hand  with  it  as  the  breakfast- 
table  was  cleared  off,  and  the  officers  were  getting 
ready  to  play  cards  as  usual.  Stepping  to  the  head 
of  the  table,  he  said,  good-naturedly : 

"  Gentlemen,  tracts  are  trumps  to-day,  and  it's  my 
deal." 

"All  right,  Chaplain/'  the  officers  responded, 
"give  us  a  hand." 

The  books  and  papers  were  given  out.  No  cards 
were  played  that  day.  The  chaplain  had  his  oppor 
tunity  unhindered,  because  he  showed  tact  in  his 
way  of  presenting  his  case. 

That  army  transport  life  gave  many  an  oppor 
tunity  of  pastoral  work  for  the  chaplain,  as  well  as 
preaching  opportunities.  Along  the  Atlantic  coast 
the  Civil  War  demanded  frequent  and  varied  use  of 
transports.  At  one  time  in  North  Carolina  our 
division  made  a  raid  into  the  interior  of  the  state, 
cutting  itself  off  from  its  base  of  supplies  and 
exposing  itself  to  capture  by  a  force  of  the  enemy 
in  its  rear.  It  seemed  both  to  us  and  to  the  enemy 
that  we  were  hopelessly  hemmed  in;  but  at  the 
close  of  the  day  in  which  we  had  accomplished  the 
main  object  of  our  raid,  we  suddenly  turned  toward 
a  river,  and  on  reaching  its  banks  found  a  number 
of  small  vessels  waiting  there  to  receive  us,  in 
accordance  with  the  plan  of  our  department  com 
mander.  These  transports  had  been  brought  up  to 
this  point,  so  that  we  might  board  them,  and  quietly 


1 1 8         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

slip  down  the  stream  during  the  night,  thus  flanking 
the  force  that  had  come  into  our  rear. 

Boarding  those  vessels  and  getting  under  way 
was  an  exciting  movement.  If  the  enemy  discov 
ered  our  position  in  season  to  attack  us  before  we 
were  fairly  started,  there  was  no  hope  for  us.  The 
skipper  of  the  craft  on  which  our  regiment  embarked 
was  a  character.  He  felt  the  responsibilities  of  the 
hour,  and  he  gave  evidence  of  this  in  his  super 
abundant  profanity  accompanying  every  order 
which  he  issued.  I  had  never  heard  such  abound 
ing  and  varied  oaths  as  he  poured  out  in  that  one 
half-hour  from  the  time  we  began  to  come  on 
board  till  we  were  fairly  afloat  and  were  moving 
down  the  stream.  Of  course,  then  was  no  time  to 
begin  preaching  to  him.  I  could  merely  watch  and 
study  him.  But  that  I  did  with  hearty  interest. 

When  at  last  all  was  quiet,  and  the  evening  had 
come  on,  and  the  old  skipper  was  evidently  gratified 
with  the  success  of  the  movement  so  far,  I  accosted 
him  with  complimentary  words  as  to  the  skill  and 
energy  he  had  shown  in  his  department.  This 
opened  up  a  conversation,  in  the  course  of  which 
he  told  of  other  exciting  experiences  he  had  had 
in  other  parts  of  the  world.  I  listened  with  hearty 
interest,  and  he  saw  that  I  was  appreciative  and 
sympathetic.  Presently  he  spoke  of  a  peculiarly 
perilous  time  he  once  had  on  the  coast  of  Africa. 

"  Ah,  Captain !  I  suppose  you  had  charge  of  a 
slaver  at  that  time/'  I  said. 


A  Chaplains  Pastoral  Work         119 

Seeing  that  he  had  "given  himself  away,"  he  re 
plied,  with  a  quiet  chuckle: 

"Yes,  Chaplain,  I've  been  up  to  purty  nigh  ev'ry- 
thin',  in  my  day,  'cept  piety." 

"Well,  Captain,"  I  responded,  "wouldn't  it  be 
worth  your  while  to  try  your  hand  at  that  also 
before  you  die,  so  as  to  go  the  whole  round?" 

"Well,  I  suppose  that  would  be  fair,  Chaplain." 

The  way  was  now  fairly  open  for  a  free  and 
kindly  talk  with  him.  As  we  stood  together  there 
on  the  vessel's  deck,  going  down  the  stream  that 
night,  we  talked  together  pleasantly  and  earnestly, 
and  I  got  at  the  early  memories  of  his  boyhood 
life  in  New  England.  I  knew  I  was  near  his  heart. 
By  and  by  all  made  ready  for  the  night.  There  was 
but  one  berth  in  the  cabin.  That  was  the  captain's. 
Our  officers  were  to  sleep  on  the  cabin  floor.  The 
captain  said  to  me : 

"  Chaplain,  you  turn  in  in  my  stateroom.  There's 
a  good  berth  there." 

"No,  no,  thank  you,  Captain,"  I  said.  "  Let  the 
Colonel  take  that." 

"It  isn't  the  Colonel's  room;  it's  mine;  and  I 
want  you  to  take  it." 

"That  would  never  do,"  I  said,  "for  the  Colonel 
to  sleep  on  the  floor,  while  I  slept  in  a  berth.  But 
I  thank  you  just  as  much  for  your  kindness, 
Captain." 

I  laid  down  with  the  other  officers  on  the  cabin 
floor.  While  I  was  asleep  I  felt  myself  being  rolled 


I2O         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

around,  and  I  found  that  the  old  captain  had  pulled 
his  mattress  out  of  his  berth,  and  laid  it  on  the 
floor,  and  he  was  now  rolling  me  on  to  it.  I  appre 
ciated  the  gruff  kindness  of  the  old  slaver  skipper, 
and  my  heart  was  drawn  the  closer  to  this  new 
parishioner  of  mine.  Nor  did  I  lose  my  hold  on 
him  when  we  were  fairly  at  New  Berne,  at  the  close 
of  this  trip.  I  was  once  more  with  him  in  the 
waters  of  South  Carolina,  and  he  came  again  and 
again  to  our  regimental  chapel-tent  on  St.  Helena 
Island  to  attend  religious  services  there.  I  saw 
that  I  had  a  hold  on  him. 

One  week-day  he  called  at  my  tent,  having  a 
brother  skipper  with  him,  whom  he  introduced  to 
me,  and  then  fell  back,  leaving  us  together.  He 
joined  my  tent-mate,  the  adjutant,  and  stood  watch 
ing  while  I  talked  with  the  new-comer.  He  told 
the  adjutant,  with  a  whole  string  of  oaths,  that  his 
friend  didn't  believe  there  was  a  God,  so  he'd 
"brought  him  over  here  for  the  chaplain  to  tackle." 

When  the  war  was  over,  I  heard  of  that  slaver 
skipper  in  his  New  England  seaport  home.  At 
more  than  threescore  years  of  age  he  had  come  as 
a  little  child  to  be  a  disciple  of  Jesus;  he  had  con 
nected  himself  with  the  church,  and  was  living  a 
consistent  Christian  life.  He  was  honestly  trying 
his  hand  at  "  piety  "  before  he  died,  and  so  was  com 
pleting  the  round  of  life's  occupations. 

Hospital  life  was  another  sphere  of  work  and  in 
fluence  for  the  chaplain.  He  could  cheer  those  who 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         1 2 1 

needed  cheering,  and  show  sympathy  with  those 
who  were  taking  the  bright-side  view  of  their  case. 

"Chaplain,  don't  you  think  a  hospital's  just  the 
sickenest  place  there  is  going?"  said  an  active 
soldier  boy  who  chafed  under  the  confinement  of 
his  convalescent  state.  And  it  was  easy  to  agree 
with  him. 

As  I  entered  a  field  hospital  just  after  a  sharp 
fight,  I  saw  a  young  soldier  who  had  lost  his  right 
hand  and  forearm.  I  spoke  with  him  of  his  brave 
bearing  under  his  loss.  He  asked  me  for  the  latest 
news  of  the  regiment.  As  I  told  him  how  nobly  it 
had  borne  itself,  and  of  the  commendation  it  had 
received  from  the  general  commanding,  he  said, 
heartily : 

"That's  worth  losing  an  arm  for, — isn't  it,  Chap 
lain?" 

A  young  officer,  whose  right  arm  had  been  taken 
off  at  the  shoulder-joint  said,  jocosely,  as  he  saw 
me  approaching : 

"There's  the  shortest  stump,  Chaplain,  in  this 
hospital" 

As  I  sat  by  a  young  soldier  who  was  sick  in 
hospital  one  Sunday  afternoon,  I  held  his  hand  as  I 
talked,  and  I  stroked  it  tenderly  as  I  spoke  of  his 
home  people  in  Connecticut,  whom  I  had  known 
in  former  days.  I  saw  the  tears  dropping  on  his 
shirt-sleeve,  but  I  said  nothing  about  it  at  the  time. 
The  truth  was,  I  had  been  written  to  by  that  sol 
dier  boy's  parents,  and  asked  to  look  him  up  and 


122         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

try  to  win  him  back.  He  was  yielding  to  tempta 
tion,  and  I  got  my  first  hold  on  him  in  this  way.  I 
never  lost  that  hold.  He  did  nobly  in  his  later 
army  life.  He  was  promoted  for  bravery  and  effi 
cient  service.  When  the  war  was  over,  he  wrote  to 
me  from  his  New  England  home.  He  was  an  active 
worker  in  the  church.  He  spoke  of  that  first  talk 
with  him  in  the  hospital. 

"When  you  went  out  of  the  hospital  that  day, 
Chaplain,"  he  said, "  I  cursed  you  for  taking  advan 
tage  of  me,  and  making  me  ciy.  I  said  it  was  mean 
of  you  to  make  me  break  down  before  the  other 
fellows." 

Then  he  added  that  he  loved  me  for  it  now,  and 
that  he  prayed  daily  for  me  and  mine.  Later  he 
told  me  that  he  was  married,  and  that  he  had  named 
his  first  little  boy  after  his  chaplain,  whom  once  he 
had  cursed.  The  chaplain's  pastoral  work  was  as 
remunerative  as  any  pastor's,  even  if  it  was  of  a 
different  sort. 

As  I  passed  the  regimental  guard  quarters  one 
day,  in  the  later  months  of  the  war,  I  saw  a  man 
tied  up  by  his  thumbs  at  the  "  wooden  horse,"  out 
side  those  quarters.  It  was  no  time  to  talk  with 
a  man  in  that  position,  but  I  quietly  noted  the  face 
with  the  intention  of  speaking  to  the  man  after 
wards.  Those  were  the  days  of  substitutes  and 
"bounty-jumpers,"  in  lieu  of  native-born  volunteers, 
and  severe  punishments  were  more  in  vogue  than 
before.  This  man  was  a  substitute  from  over  the 


A  Chaplain  s  Pastoral  Work         123 

ocean.  He  had  been  enlisted  under  a  false  name 
by  a  relative  in  this  country,  and,  with  his  imme 
diate  associates  as  they  were,  he  had  little  induce 
ment  to  do  well  in  army  service. 

Not  long  after,  when  I  had  given  notice  at  the 
chapel-tent  that  on  Tuesday  evening  I  should  be 
glad  to  see  any  soldier  at  my  tent  who  wished  to 
talk  on  personal  religion,  this  substitute  soldier 
came  to  my  tent  on  the  evening  named.  I  wel 
comed  him  heartily,  and  referred  to  that  invitation. 
He  replied,  with  some  embarrassment,  that  he  had 
not  come  at  that  call,  but  merely  to  talk  with  me 
on  another  matter.  I  asked  if  his  special  business 
could  wait  a  little,  while  I  spoke  of  the  matter  to 
which  I  had  devoted  the  evening.  He  said  the 
other  thing  could  wait.  Then  I  told  him  of  my 
personal  interest  in  him,  and  urged  the  surrender 
of  his  life  to  his  Saviour.  His  response  profoundly 
impressed  me,  as  disclosing  the  workings  of  his 
inner  life. 

"I'm  a  very  strange  man,  Chaplain!  Now  that 
I'm  talking  with  you,  I  realize  the  truth  of  all  you 
say,  and  I'm  not  a  hypocrite  in  agreeing  with  it  all. 
But  I'll  go  out  from  your  tent,  and  it  will  not  be  an 
hour  before  I've  forgotten  all  about  this  talk,  and 
am  just  as  wicked  and  as  wild  as  ever.  And  I'll 
not  think  of  religion  again  until,  perhaps,  I'm  on 
guard  some  night.  Then  when  I'm  all  by  myself, 
and  the  camp  is  quiet,  as  I'm  pacing  back  and  forth 
on  my  beat,  it  will  all  come  over  me  again,  and  I'll 


124         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

see  just  what  a  sinner  I  am,  and  how  like  a  fool 
I've  acted;  and  I'll  resolve  that  if  only  I  live  till 
morning,  I'll  be  a  very  different  man.  And  I'll 
think  that  way  until  the  'relief  comes  round,  and 
I  go  to  the  guard  quarters  again.  And  then,  will 
you  believe  it,  Chaplain?  it  will  not  be  five  minutes 
before  I'm  swearing  and  scoffing  as  if  I'd  never  had 
a  serious  thought  in  my  life.  O  Chaplain,  I'm  a 
very  strange  man,  sir;  a  very  strange  man  !  " 

As  this  soldier  parishioner,  whose  strangeness 
consisted  mainly  in  his  unusual  understanding  of 
the  workings  of  his  own  heart,  talked  thus  with  me 
of  his  moral  struggles  and  need,  I  was  drawn  to 
him  by  an  interest  that  never  intermitted  while  he 
lived.  He  came  to  be  a  brave  soldier.  When  the 
war  was  over  he  became  an  active  worker  in  a 
prominent  New  England  church.  He  took  an 
exceptionally  high  stand  in  business  circles,  in 
political  life,  in  military  organizations.  He  was 
instrumental  in  leading  many  who  had  gone  astray 
back  to  ways  of  uprightness;  and,  now  that  his 
earthly  life  course  is  ended,  his  memory  is  precious 
in  the  minds  of  many  who  were  inspired  and  aided 
by  his  example  and  efforts,  as  a  specimen  subject 
of  an  army  chaplain's  pastoral  work. 

While  a  prisoner  of  war  in  the  city  of  Charleston 
in  the  month  of  July,  1863,  I  was  paroled  for  a 
time  from  the  common  jail,  so  that  I  might  min 
ister  to  our  wounded  soldiers  brought  up  to  the 
Yankee  Hospital  from  before  Fort  Wagner,  on 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         125 

Morris  Island.  That  hospital  was  the  old  slave-pen 
on  Queen  Street.  It  was  sadly  crowded  just  then 
with  those  suffering  and  dying. 

The  surgeons'  tables  were  in  the  court  at  the 
rear  of  the  high  brick  building  in  which  the 
wounded  men  were  lying  before  and  after  their 
operations.  When  brought  in,  they  were  laid 
on  loose  straw  on  the  lower  floors.  More  than 
one  hundred  capital  operations  were  performed 
there  in  thirty-six  hours.  After  treatment  the 
men  were  laid  on  rude  cots  on  the  floors  above. 
As  they  could  not  all  be  attended  to  promptly, 
some  of  them  were  on  Tuesday  morning  still  lying 
with  the  blood  unwashed  from  their  wounds  of  the 
Saturday  night  before.  The  heat  of  the  weather, 
added  to  the  loss  of  blood,  intensified  the  wound 
thirst  of  the  sufferers. 

My  mission  was  to  carry  water  in  canteens  from 
the  hydrant  in  the  court  below  to  the  different  floors 
of  the  building,  and  give  it  to  the  thirsty,  wounded 
soldiers.  With  this  needed  draught  I  could  bear 
unexpected  words  of  sympathy  from  a  Union  chap 
lain  to  homesick  prisoners,  so  that  I  was  sure  of  a 
welcome  wherever  I  went.  That  was  a  chaplain's 
pastoral  work  condensed  and  intensified,  and  the 
memories  of  it  can  never  fade  out  of  my  heart. 

As  I  was  passing  along  on  the  upper  floor  of  that 
slave-pen  hospital,  a  Confederate  surgeon,  pointing 
to  a  hospital  cot,  said  tenderly: 

"  Chaplain,  there's  a  little  fellow  who  is  sinking 


126         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

rapidly.     He'll  not  live  many  hours.     I  think  you'd 
better  talk  with  him." 

On  that  prompting  I  turned  to  the  "little  fellow" 
on  the  cot     He  was  a  fair-faced,  bright-eyed  New 
Hampshire  boy,  barely  eighteen  years  old.     He  had 
lost  a  leg,  and  was  sinking  from  the  shock.     When 
I  told  him  who  I  was,  he  greeted  me  cheerily,  evi 
dently  having  no  idea  of  his  condition. 
"  You  are  very  badly  wounded,"  I  said. 
"Oh,  not  so  very  badly!"  he  responded.     "I've 
lost  only  one  leg,  and  a  good  many  men  have  lost 
both  legs  and  got  well." 

"  I  wish  you  were  to  get  well,"  I  said,  shaking 
my  head  sadly. 

"Why,  Chaplain,"  he  said,  evidently  startled  by 
my  look  and  tone,  "you  don't  mean  that  I'm  going 
to  die, —  do  you?" 

"  Yes,  my  dear  boy,  I  do  mean  that" 
"Oh,  but,  Chaplain,  I  can't  die!    I'm  only  a  boy 
yet,  and  I  can't  die." 

"  My  dear  boy,  I  wish  I  could  give  you  life,  but 
the  doctor  says  you're  going  to  die." 
"But,  Chaplain,  I'm  not  ready  to  die." 
"Jesus  Christ  can  make  you  ready  to  die,  or  to 
live,  if  you'll  just  put  yourself  in  his  hands.      He 
will  be  glad  to  take  care  of  you." 

"Oh,  but,  Chaplain,  I've  been  a  very  bad  boy!  I 
was  a  bad  boy  at  home,  although  I  had  a  real  good 
home.  I've  got  a  real  good  father  and  mother  up 
in  New  Hampshire;  but  I  ran  away  from  them  and 


A  Chaplain  s  Pastoral  Work          1 2  7 

enlisted,  and  in  the  army  I've  been  as  bad  as  bad 
could  be." 

"Jesus  Christ  came  into  the  world  to  save  sin 
ners,"  I  said,  "and  he  loves  to  have  those  who  have 
been  bad  come  to  him  to  be  forgiven.  You  can 
come  to  him  now  as  a  sinner,  and  ask  him  to  for 
give  you  and  save  you;  and  he  will  do  it  gladly. 
There  is  nothing  he  so  loves  to  do." 

"Well,  will  you  pray  for  me,  Chaplain?"  he 
asked. 

"Of  course  I  will,"  I  replied;  and  I  knelt  by  his 
bedside,  and  prayed  with  and  for  him  in  loving 
earnestness.  Then,  after  a  few  words  more  with 
him,  I  turned  to  other  sufferers,  promising  to  come 
soon  and  see  him  again.  After  a  little  I  came  back 
to  his  bedside. 

"I've  been  looking  back,  Chaplain,"  he  said,  "and 
it's  all  black— all  black." 

"  Don't  look  back;1  I  said,  "but  look  up.  It's  all 
bright  there." 

"  But  you  don't  know,  Chaplain,  how  great  a 
sinner  I've  been." 

"  I  don't  care  to  know.  Jesus  knows.  And  you 
cannot  have  been  so  great  a  sinner  as  he  is  great 
a  Saviour.  He  is  ready  to  save  to  the  uttermost 
them  who  come  unto  God  by  him.  And  he  is 
waiting  now  to  save  you." 

"  Do  you  mean,  Chaplain,  that  right  now  Jesus 
will  forgive  all  my  sins,  if  I  ask  him  to?" 

"  I  mean  just  that,  my  dear  boy." 


128         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

"Well,  Chaplain,  won't  you  pray  for  me  again?" 

"Yes,  my  boy,  I'll  pray  for  you;  but  I  want  you 
to  pray  for  yourself.  Jesus  loves  to  have  those 
who  need  forgiveness  come  and  ask  for  it  them 
selves." 

Once  more  I  knelt  and  prayed.  As  I  closed 
my  prayer  I  laid  my  hand  on  him  tenderly,  and 
said: 

"  Now,  you  pray." 

The  little  fellow  folded  his  hands  across  his  chest, 
and  prayed, — prayed  in  such  childlike  simplicity 
and  trust,  told  so  frankly  to  Jesus  the  stoiy  of  his 
sins,  and  asked  in  such  loving  confidence  for  for 
giveness,  that  I  was  sure  his  prayer  was  answered 
while  it  was  offering,  and  that  he  was  having  for 
giveness  even  while  he  sought  it. 

As  I  rose  from  my  knees  I  saw  that  we  were  not 
alone.  That  childlike  prayer,  in  that  dying  child 
voice,  had  drawn  the  attention  of  surgeons,  attend 
ants,  and  visitors,  in  the  dreary  prison  hospital,  and 
they  stood  about  us  in  tearful  sympathy. 

A  third  time,  after  a  brief  absence,  I  was  by  that 
soldier  lad.  His  eyes  were  closed.  His  face  was 
pallid.  At  first  I  thought  he  had  already  passed 
away,  and  I  stooped  over  him  to  hear  if  he  were 
still  breathing.  Seeming  to  feel  my  presence,  he 
opened  his  eyes,  and  for  a  moment  looked  about 
vacantly.  Then,  as  full  consciousness  returned,  he 
recognized  me  with 

"Oh,  it's  you,  Chaplain!" 


A  Chaplain  s  Pastoral  Work          129 

And  throwing  up  both  his  arms,  he  clasped  them 
about  my  neck,  and,  drawing  my  face  down  to  his, 
he  gave  me  a  dying  kiss. 

"  You  are  the  best  friend  I've  got  in  the  world," 
he  said.  "  You've  saved  my  soul." 

"  No,  no,  my  dear  boy.     Jesus  saves  your  soul." 

"Yes,  yes;  but  you've  told  me  about  Jesus;  and 
he's  saved  my  soul.  He  has,  Chaplain.  I  don't 
have  any  doubt  about  it.  He  has  forgiven  all  my 
sins.  And  now  I'm  going  to  be  with  him.  How 
happy  my  father  and  mother  will  be  !  I  want  you 
to  write  and  tell  them  all  about  it." 

It  was  while  I  stood  listening  to  the  joyous 
words  of  that  forgiven  soul,  that  I  was  tapped  on 
the  shoulder  and  led  away,  under  arrest  as  a  sus 
pected  spy,  to  be  shut  in  solitary  prison  confine 
ment,  never  to  see  that  dear  boy  again  until  he 
and  I  stand  together  in  our  common  Saviour's 
presence.  But  when  I  was  released  from  prison, 
and  was  again  at  my  home,  I  wrote  to  that  soldier 
boy's  father  in  New  Hampshire,  and  received 
assurance  that  both  father  and  mother  were  indeed 
glad  that  their  prayers  for  their  loved  boy  were 
answered,  and  that  he  who  was  lost  was  found 
again. 

Such  echoes  of  army  pastoral  work,  reaching  my 
ears  after  the  war  was  over,  were  among  the  most 
remunerative  results  of  that  peculiar  service.  On 
ont  occasion  I  visited  the  country  home  of  one  of 
my  dear  dead  soldier  boys,  several  years  after  the 


130         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

war,  and  I  realized  anew  how  the  incidents  of  that 
conflict  were  an  ever-fresh  reality  with  those  who 
had  given  their  choicest  treasures  to  make  the  con 
flict  a  success.  This  soldier  boy  was  one  of  the 
color-guard  who  was  shot  in  the  first  severe  battle 

o 

in  which  I  had  a  part.  He  had  sent  by  me  his 
dying  message  to  his  parents,  that  he  was  glad  to 
give  one  life  for  liberty,  and  I  had  buried  him  on  the 
field  where  he  fell.  To  his  parents  he  was  still 
simply  away  at  the  war.  They  thought  of  him  as 
their  loved  boy  in  the  service  of  their  country.  As 
I  sat  before  them  in  their  quiet  farmhouse  home, 
they  talked  about  Albert  as  their  temporarily  ab 
sent  boy,  and  I  found  myself  familiar  to  them  as 
one  who  was  linked  lovingly  with  their  absent 
hero  son. 

"  Albert  writes  about  you  in  almost  every  letter, 
Chaplain.  He  thinks  a  great  deal  of  his  chaplain, 
and  so  we  all  do.  We  are  so  glad  to  see  you." 

It  was  not  "  he  did  write,"  and  "  he  did  think," 
but  "  he  writes,"  and  "  he  thinks,"  now  as  always. 
In  many  a  New  England  home  this  was  the  feel 
ing.  The  absent  soldier  boy  remained  the  same 
as  the  years  went  on;  and  his  chaplain,  if  he  was  a 
faithful  chaplain  in  his  army  pastoral  work,  had  an 
ever-living  place  in  the  memories  of  that  home 
circle. 

This  truth  was  brought  home  to  me  with  thrilling 
vividness  on  one  occasion,  in  the  city  of  Boston. 
I  was  announced  to  speak  on  an  anniversary  occa- 


A  Chaplain's  Pastoral  Work         131 

sion  in  Tremont  Temple.  A  speaker  who  could 
tell  of  army  incidents  of  Christian  service  was  sure 
of  a  hearing  at  that  time  from  a  New  England 
audience.  The  house  was  crowded.  Every  seat 
on  floor  and  stage  and  in  galleries  was  occupied ; 
and  the  aisles  were  packed  to  the  doors.  Having 
the  ears  of  all  present  as  I  spoke,  I  had  concluded 
my  address  with  a  pathetic  incident  of  prison  hos 
pital  experience,  and  all  hearts  were  touched  with 
tender  sympathy.  As  I  sat  down,  there  came  that 
impressive  hush  which  naturally  follows  such  an 
address  before  a  popular  audience.  Suddenly  the 
silence  was  broken  by  a  strong  voice  in  the  body 
of  the  house,  as  the  stalwart  form  of  gray-haired 
Captain  Bartlett  of  Plymouth,  the  sailor  mission 
ary,  rose,  and  his  words  rang  out : 

"  I  want  in  this  public  manner  to  give  thanks  to 
that  dear  brother  who  has  just  taken  his  seat,  for 
his  loving  ministry  to  my  dear  boy,  who  starved  to 
death  in  a  Southern  prison." 

Then,  his  face  suffused  with  emotion,  and  his 
voice  tremulous  with  feeling,  yet  distinctly  heard 
by  every  person  in  that  sympathetic  audience,  he 
stretched  out  his  hands  toward  me,  and  exclaimed : 

"  Brother  Trumbull,  when  you  cross  the  thresh 
old  of  heaven,  Victor  Bartlett  will  meet  you  on  the 
other  side,  and  will  give  you  thanks  for  pointing 
him  to  that  Saviour  in  whose  presence  he  is  for- 
evermore.  That  little  Confederate  Testament  which 
you  gave  him  in  Columbia,  and  which  he  had  with 


132         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

him  when  he  died  in  Salisbury,  is  one  of  the  pre 
cious  treasures  of  my  home  and  heart,  and  I  want 
to  give  you  a  father's  thanks,  as  Victor  gave  you 
his  own  thanks." 

Every  eye  in  that  great  audience  was  in  tears. 
Every  heart  was  throbbing  responsively.  And  all 
the  listeners  felt,  with  the  sobbing  chaplain,  that  it 
was  a  priceless  privilege  to  have  ministered  in  the 
Master's  name  to  those  who  were  hungry  and  sick 
and  in  prison  in  war  time. 


CHAPTER  VI 

INFLUENCE   OF   THE   HOME   MAIL 

Sitting  in  my  tent,  on  the  old  Fair  Grounds 
beyond  New  Berne,  North  Carolina,  soon  after 
I  joined  my  regiment  in  the  autumn  of  1862, 
I  was  startled  by  a  cry,  outside,  of  "Boat!  boat! 
boat ! "  followed  by  shouts  of  rejoicing  on  every 
side,  and  by  sounds  of  unusual  commotion  in  the 
entire  camp.  Starting  up  to  learn  the  meaning 
of  this  noise,  I  found  officers  and  men  astir,  as  if 
the  long  roll  had  sounded  an  alarm.  They  were 
hurrying  to  and  fro  excitedly,  yet  with  evident 
looks  of  delight. 

"What  is  all  this?"  I  asked  of  a  passing 
sergeant. 

"Didn't  you  hear  that  whistle,  Chaplain?  A 
boat's  coming  up  the  river.  Three  whistles  means 
a  mail.  It'll  be  here  in  an  hour  or  two." 

Then  I  saw  that  the  regimental  postmaster  (Wil 
liam  Keough,  an  enlisted  man  detailed  for  that  ser 
vice)  was  already  on  his  way  out  of  camp,  with  his 
mail-bag,  hurrying  into  the  city,  to  be  on  hand  when 
the  mail  was  distributed.  A  steamer  was  coming 
up  the  Neuse  River  with  a  mail  from  the  North 

133 


134         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

aboard.  Home  letters  for  soldiers  were  in  that 
mail.  Everybody  hoped  for  a  letter,  whether  having 
reason  to  expect  one  or  not.  Although  the  mail 
could  hardly  reach  our  camp  for  three  hours  yet — 
it  having  to  be  received  and  sorted  at  the  post-office 
in  the  city  first, — officers  and  men  were  restlessly 
watching  for  it,  as  if  it  might  appear  at  any  moment. 
They  moved  about  aimlessly,  yet  by  no  means  with 
unconcern.  They  compared  notes  as  to  the  prob 
able  time  of  the  mail's  arrival  in  camp.  They  con 
gratulated  each  other  on  its  coming  to-day.  Glad 
expectancy  and  hardly  repressed  impatience  were 
in  every  face. 

By  and  by  the  regimental  postmaster,  with  his 
full  mail-bag,  hove  in  sight  beyond  the  camp.  A 
shout  of  joy  went  up  from  every  throat,  like  the 
cry  of  students,  at  a  university  race,  when  their 
boat  is  nearing  the  goal.  Already  hurrying  rapidly 
with  his  precious  load,  the  postmaster  made  a  final 
spurt,  under  the  impulse  of  those  cheers,  and 
reached  his  tent,  to  hasten  the  sorting  of  the  regi 
mental  mail,  which  had  been  delivered  to  him  at 
the  post-office  of  the  department. 

It  seemed  as  if  the  whole  regiment  was  gathered 
in  sight  of  that  postmaster's  tent,  as  though  long 
ing  eyes  could  quicken  the  work  of  busy  fingers. 
There  was  but  one  thing  thought  of  now.  All 
hearts  outreached  toward  one  center.  Willing 
hands  were  ready  to  take  the  field-and-staff  mail, 
when  that  was  given  out ;  but  there  was  no  need 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail         135 

to  carry  it  to  regimental  headquarters,  for,  from 
colonel  to  quartermaster,  all  were  close  by,  waiting 
to  receive  what  there  was  for  them.  The  line 
officers  took  their  mail  before  it  could  reach  their 
company  street ;  and  the  men  of  each  company 
followed  their  orderly  sergeant,  as  he  took  their 
portion  for  distribution.  Soon  the  entire  mail  was 
given  out,  and  then  there  was  quiet  in  all  the  camp. 
A  hush  came  over  the  regiment  in  place  of  the  stir 
and  noise.  Only  eyes  and  hearts  were  occupied. 
Home  influences  were  for  the  time  supreme,  with 
those  who  had  fresh  letters  from  their  family  loved 
ones,  and  with  those  who  vainly  longed  for  such 
letters. 

This  was  my  first  experience  of  the  power  of  the 
home  mail  in  the  army.  But  from  that  time  to  the 
close  of  the  war  I  saw  more  and  more  of  that 
power,  in  camp,  in  battle,  in  hospital,  and  in  prison ; 
and  I  came  to  feel  that  there  was  no  influence  more 
potent,  none  which  took  a  deeper  hold  on  the 
hearts  of  officers  and  men  alike,  none  which  was 
more  pervasive  and  yet  abiding,  than  that  which 
centered  in  the  coming  of  the  mail  from  home. 
Therefore  it  is  that  I  desire  to  tell  of  it  as  one  of 
the  positive,  yet  more  rarely  noted,  factors  in  the 
great  war  for  the  Union. 

My  regiment  was  at  one  time  on  the  steamer 
Pilot  Boy,  with  Major-General  John  G.  Foster, 
commanding  the  district  of  North  Carolina,  moving 
out  of  the  River  Neuse  just  as  a  steamer  from  New 


136         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

York  was  coming  in.  The  New  York  steamer  was 
stopped,  in  order  that  the  General  might  receive  the 
latest  New  York  papers.  It  was  found  that  a  mail 
was  aboard,  and  the  mail-bags  were  brought  into 
the  cabin  of  the  Pilot  Boy. 

Then  came  a  quandary.  The  bags  were  locked 
with  government  locks,  and  were  assigned  to  the 
New  Berne  post-office.  No  one  on  the  Pilot  Boy 
had  a  post-office  key.  The  bags  would  have  to  be 
cut  open,  or  no  home  letters  could  be  obtained. 
Generel  Foster  evidently  hesitated  as  to  his  action, 
as  he  must  proceed  on  his  way  down  the  river,  and 
the  mail-bags  must  be  sent  up  to  New  Berne.  He 
stood  in  the  cabin  thinking  it  over,  and  the  officers 
of  his  staff  and  of  my  regiment  stood  about  him, 
waiting  anxiously  for  his  decision.  There  was  not 
an  officer  there  who  would  not  have  risked  a  term 
in  prison  to  have  a  chance  at  the  home  mail. 

"  We're  within  a  few  feet  of  news  from  home. 
It's  a  pity  we  can't  have  it,"  said  one  officer. 

"  General,  isn't  it  possible  that  there  are  govern 
ment  despatches  for  you  in  that  mail?"  ventured 
an  officer  of  his  staff. 

"We  must  have  our  mail,"  said  the  General 
firmly.  Instantly  a  dozen  knives  were  out,  and 
those  mail-bags  were  opened  and  emptied  in  a 
twinkling.  There  were  bushels  of  letters  for  the 
whole  district,  but  they  were  quickly  assorted  in 
accordance  with  General  Foster's  order:  "Take  out 
letters  for  the  commanding  general  and  his  staff, 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail          137 

and  for  the  Tenth  Connecticut,  and  put  the  rest 
back  in  the  bags,  to  return  to  New  Berne." 

Every  man  on  the  Pilot  Boy  who  had  a  home 
letter  in  that  mail  lay  down  that  night  better  pre 
pared  for  whatever  the  morrow  would  bring  to  him. 
And  every  man  who  had  no  letter  was  at  least  con 
soled  by  the  thought  that  now  he  knew  he  was 
not  missing  a  letter  by  a  failure  to  empty  those 
mail-bags. 

There  was  no  time  when  soldiers  were  more 
open  to  sympathy  than  when  they  had  just  been 
reading  loving  words  written  to  them  by  their 
dear  ones  at  home.  Soldiers  in  the  army  were, 
as  a  rule,  disinclined  to  think  or  talk  about  home, 
while  kept  away  from  it  in  active  service.  It  would 
not  do  for  them  to  yield  to  the  drawings  in  that 
direction.  As  has  been  suggested,  they  must  but 
ton  their  soldier  coats  over  their  hearts,  and  attend 
to  present  duty.  But  the  coming  of  the  home  mail 
necessitated  the  unbuttoning  of  the  soldier  coats  in 
order  to  take  the  home  news  in;  and  then  their 
hearts  were  open  to  the  outer  world,  and  if  one 
who  was  near  them  took  advantage  of  the  oppor 
tunity,  he  could  find  access  to  their  inner  being. 

The  hours  following  the  home  mail  were  a  reap 
ing  season  for  a  sympathetic  chaplain.  Men  who 
had  just  had  letters  seemed  ready  to  tell  him  every 
thing.  Their  hearts  were  softened,  and  they  wanted 
to  talk  of  matters  they  could  not  speak  of  in  ordi 
nary  times. 


138         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

"Did  you  hear  from  home  to-day?"  I  asked  of 
a  young  soldier,  as  I  entered  his  tent,  on  a  mail- 
day. 

His  face  was  all  aglow  as  he  answered:  "Yes, 
Chaplain.  I  had  a  real  good  letter  from  my  father ; 
and  it  had  in  it  three  postage-stamps,  and  two  of  as 
good  steel  pens  as  ever  you  saw  in  your  life.  They 
weren't  much  in  themselves,  but  they  showed  they 
were  thinking  of  me  at  home.  I  tell  you,  Chaplain, 
I'm  not  much  of  a  fellow  myself,  but  I've  got  as 
good  a  father  and  mother  as  any  fellow  ever  had  in 
this  world."  And  the  way  was  open  for  a  close 
talk  with  that  soldier  boy. 

"  Chaplain,  I  had  a  letter  from  my  wife  to-day, 
and  I  want  to  show  you  what  was  in  it,"  said 
another  soldier,  as  he  handed  me  a  scrap  of  paper 
with  some  unintelligible  pencil  scrawls  on  it.  "  My 
wife  says  she  said/  I'll  write  to  'Nezer  to-day.'  You 
see  my  real  name  is  Ebenezer,  but  my  wife  calls  me 
'Nezer.  Then  my  little  girl,  she  said,  "I'll  write 
to  'Nezer,  too,'  and  that's  what  she  wrote.  It  shows 
my  little  girl  was  thinking  of  me."  I  had  a  new 
hold  on  that  man  from  that  hour. 

Many  a  soldier  was  kept  up  to  his  duty  by  the 
loving  and  patriotic  letters  that  came  to  him  from 
father  and  mother  and  sister  or  wife ;  and  without 
the  constant  influence  of  the  home  mail  there  could 
never  have  been  that  measure  of  courage,  of 
patience,  and  of  faith,  which  distinguished  our 
Union  army  to  the  close  of  the  war.  Wives  wrote 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail          1 39 

cheerily  while  their  hearts  were  breaking,  lonely 
mothers  told  their  sons  not  to  think  of  coming 
back  until  the  war  was  over,  and  fond  and  patri 
otic  sisters  stayed  up  the  courage  of  their  brave 
brothers. 

"Chaplain,  I've  just  got  a  letter  from  my  old 
mother  that  does  me  good,"  said  a  free-and-easy 
soldier,  who  had  re-enlisted  for  three  years  more, 
after  two  years  in  service.  "I  wrote  her  that  I'd 
signed  again,  and  she  tells  me  she  glories  in  my 
spunk." 

Blunt,  but  hearty  in  their  spirit,  and  unmistakable 
in  their  meaning,  those  words  of  commendation ! 
Another  soldier,  whose  mother  had  written  approv 
ingly  of  his  re-enlistment,  told  me  he  had  already 
lost,  in  the  war,  two  brothers,  two  brothers-in-law, 
and  two  uncles.  And  he  "wouldn't  quit  now."  He 
was  "going  to  see  this  thing  through."  They  were 
patriotic  homes  that  these  letters  came  from.  And 
they  were  specimen  homes  of  our  Union  soldiers. 
Such  patriotism  gave  value  to  the  letters  in  the 
home  mail. 

Probably  there  was  never  an  army  in  the  field  in 
which  so  many  private  soldiers  as  in  ours  had 
homes  to  write  to,  and  the  ability  and  desire  to 
correspond  with  their  dear  ones.  Certain  it  is  that 
this  army  was  the  first  in  which  its  government 
made  provision  for  regular  and  frequent  mail  dis 
tribution  while  in  the  field  and  on  the  march.  In 
order  to  secure  something  of  the  same  sort,  the 


140         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

German  government  made  careful  inquiry  into  our 
system  of  army -mail  distribution  before  its  war 
with  France  in  1870.  It  was  a  point  of  soldierly 
honor  with  our  military  letter-carriers  to  lose  no 
time  in  delivering  home  letters  to  those  -to  whom 
they  were  addressed,  even  though  the  carrier  must 
go  to  the  advanced  battle  front,  and  deliver  the 
letters  under  fire  to  the  waiting  soldiers. 

Nor  was  it  the  private  soldier  only,  who  responded 
to  home-mail  influences.  I  was  sitting  on  horse 
back  near  my  brigade  commander,  under  fire  during 
a  sharp  engagement,  when  I  heard  a  sudden  ex 
clamation  from  him: 

"  Just  look  at  that,  Chaplain !  Just  look  at 
that!" 

I  turned,  supposing  that  it  was  some  military 
movement  to  which  he  was  calling  attention,  when 
he  handed  me  a  little  note  from  his  youngest  boy, 
telling  in  childish  language  of  his  love  for  his 
father. 

"  You  see,  my  wife  was  writing  to  me,  and  my 
little  boy  wanted  to  write  too.  And  here's  his 
letter.  Isn't  that  sweet  ?  " 

And  that  brigade  line  was  the  firmer  that  day  for 
the  loving  words  from  home,  received  by  its  com 
mander  in  that  battle  hour. 

Letters  from  home  were  treasured  by  soldier 
boys,  to  be  read  over  and  over  again  when  no  fresh 
ones  were  at  hand.  As  a  soldier  showed  me  one 
letter  from  his  mother,  he  said :  "  My  mother 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail          141 

writes  me  some  real  good  letters.  But  I  lost  the 
best  letter  she  ever  wrote  me  when  we  broke  camp 
last  time.  I  used  to  read  it  over  so  often.  It  was 
so  good." 

Many  a  time  have  I  taken  a  home  letter  from 
the  pocket  of  a  soldier  we  were  burying  on  the 
field.  Sometimes  it  was  with  a  Testament,  and 
sometimes  with  a  pack  of  cards,  but  always 
treasured  lovingly.  I  took  a  letter  from  a  dead  sol 
dier  on  the  shore  of  Morris  Island.  It  was  from 
his  mother  in  Ohio.  She  spoke  hopefully  of  his 
speedy  home-coming,  as  his  term  of  enlistment  was 
nearly  out.  She  said  the  melons  he  liked  were 
doing  well,  and  would  be  ripe  when  he  came  home. 
I  had  leaned  over  him  before  he  was  quite  dead, 
and  as  his  life-blood  was  gushing  out  of  his  death- 
wound,  his  last  words,  faintly  spoken,  were :  "  What 
would  my  mother  say  if  she  saw  me  now ! "  Poor 
boy!  his  time  was  out  sooner  than  he  anticipated, 
and  before  the  melons  were  ripe  in  his  Ohio  home 
he  was  under  the  sand  on  the  South  Carolina 
shore. 

As  we  came  into  the  rear  of  the  outer  line  of 
works  at  Drewry's  Bluff,  in  Virginia,  a  young  Con 
federate  soldier  was  dying  of  a  terrible  wound.  I 
gave  him  water,  and  prayed  with  him ;  and  when 
he  was  dead,  and  we  were  to  bury  him,  I  took  from 
his  pocket  his  well-worn  Testament,  and  the  last 
letter  he  had  received  from  his  loving  father  in  his 
North  Carolina  home.  Both  letter  and  Testament 


142         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

were  stained  with  his  life's  blood.  After  the  war,  I 
sent  those  precious  relics  to  his  parents,  in  western 
North  Carolina,  and  they  were  treasured  in  his 
home  as  proofs  of  the  love  in  that  soldier  heart  for 
his  father  on  earth  and  his  Father  in  heaven,  whose 
words  were  alike  held  dear  by  him. 

Every  soldier  longed  for  home  letters,  but  not 
every  soldier  had  the  letters  he  longed  for.  A  sol 
dier  from  another  regiment  than  my  own  said  to 
me  one  day,  as  we  talked : 

"  Chaplain,  I've  been  out  now  more  than  two 
years,  and  I've  never  had  but  two  letters  from 
home.  I  tell  you  that's  rough  !  " 

"  Well,  it  is  rough,"  I  said.  "  But  have  you  any 
family  to  write  to  you  ?  " 

"  I've  got  a  father  and  a  mother,  and  two  sisters, 
and  three  brothers,  and  they've  never  written  me 
but  twice.  I  tell  you,  Chaplain,  that's  rough.  I 
say,  Chaplain,  we  soldiers  have  a  hard  time  of  it  at 
the  best ;  and  when  we  don't  hear  from  home,  it's 
rough.  When  the  mail  used  to  come  in,  I'd  go  up 
to  my  company  (you  see,  I  was  detached),  and  I'd 
ask  for  my  letters,  and  there  wouldn't  be  any  for 
me.  '  Well,'  I'd  say,  '  I  don't  care.  I  can  wait. 
I'll  have  some  next  time.'  But  the  next  time  it 
would  be  the  same  way ;  and  so  on  all  the  while. 
I  tell  you,  Chaplain,  it  was  rough." 

And  it  was  rough.  Nothing  was  harder  for  the 
soldier  to  bear  than  home  neglect.  Nothing  did 
more  to  help  the  soldier  to  bear  what  was  on  him, 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail         143 

than  loving  letters  from  home.  If  those  at  home 
had  realized  this,  there  would  have  been  less  of 
such  neglect ;  but  the  trouble  was  lack  of  thought. 

I  told  this  story  of  the  aching  heart  of  that  home- 
neglected  soldier  in  one  of  the  Northern  papers 
while  the  war  was  in  progress.  A  good  woman 
up  in  Vermont,  who  was  confined  to  her  room,  and 
whose  fingers  were  drawn  together  with  rheuma 
tism  so  that  she  could  write  only  with  great  diffi 
culty,  read  it,  and  her  heart  ached  in  sympathy. 
She  had  lost  a  soldier  brother  in  the  war,  to  whom 
she  had  written  faithfully  while  he  lived.  And  now 
she  determined  to  write  sisterly  letters  to  soldiers 
who  were  without  letters  from  home.  She  sent  me 
a  package  of  these  letters,  for  me  to  address  to 
such  soldiers  as  I  thought  would  value  their  words 
of  loving  sympathy  and  appreciation.  And  she 
continued  this  good  work  until  the  war  was  over. 
Those  personal  assurances  of  kindly  interest  in  the 
soldier,  and  of  recognition  of  his  unselfish  service 
for  those  who  were  at  home,  were  better  than 
printed  tracts  or  papers  for  lonely  soldiers ;  and 
the  roughnesses  of  army  life  were  smoothed  in 
many  a  soldier's  lot  by  those  substitutes  for  longed- 
for  home  letters. 

But  it  was  in  the  prison  life  of  soldiers  within 
the  enemy's  lines  that  the  home  mail  had  its 
supremest  power  during  the  years  of  our  Civil 
War.  To  the  soldier  prisoner,  home  was  so  far 
away,  and  so  very  dear,  that  a  letter  from  home  was 


144         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

almost  like  a  message  from  another  world.  How 
the  heart  ached  for  home  letters,  and  how  the  heart 
bounded  for  joy  at  their  coming,  in  prison  ! 

After  an  experience  of  months  in  the  prisons  of 
South  Carolina,  I  was  in  Libby  Prison,  with  this 
longing  for  home  letters  filling  my  heart,  as  it  filled 
the  heart  of  every  soldier  prisoner.  How  vividly 
there  stands  out  in  my  memory  the  picture  of  the 
first  mail  distribution  I  witnessed  in  the  Libby ! 

There  were  more  than  nine  hundred  Federal 
officers  there  at  that  time.  The  mail  for  soldier 
prisoners  in  all  the  South  came  from  the  North  by 
flag  of  truce  to  City  Point,  and  thence  to  Richmond 
for  sorting  and  distribution  to  other  points.  The 
cry  of  "  Mail !  mail !  "  was  my  first  glad  surprise  in 
the  Libby.  I  knew  its  meaning  well.  All  were  at 
once  excited,  and  busy  in  preparation  for  its  recep 
tion.  A  circle  of  boxes  and  barrels  enclosed  a 
space  on  the  upper  floor,  where  the  huge  mail 
could  be  deposited  and  sorted  when  it  came  in. 
Adjutant  Knaggs,  of  the  Seventh  Michigan  Cavalry, 
took  his  place  in  the  center  of  that  circle,  with 
several  assistants  for  the  sorting  of  the  mail.  Out 
side  of  the  circle  gathered  all  the  Union  prisoners 
who  could  pack  into  the  great  room,  and  beyond 
were  others  trying  to  get  within  sight  or  sound 
through  the  doorways.  Few  could  hope  for  a 
letter  in  that  mail,  but  all  could  watch  for  one. 

More  than  twenty  thousand  letters  were  in  that 
mail,  not  more  than  one  in  twenty  of  which  be- 


L 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail          145 

longed  in  the  Libby.  The  assistants  went  rapidly 
through  the  great  pile,  tossing  back  into  the  bags 
letters  which  were  to  go  elsewhere,  and  laying 
before  the  adjutant  all  letters  for  Libby  prisoners. 
The  adjutant  took  up  those  letters  one  by  one,  and 
called  out  their  addresses  in  a  loud,  clear  voice. 
No  one  failed  of  getting  his  letter  through  inatten 
tion  when  his  name  was  called. 

Oh,  how  intent  were  those  listening  ears  !  The 
very  hearts  seemed  to  stop  beating,  as  each  ad 
dress  was  called.  And  when  a  man  heard  his 
name  spoken  by  the  adjutant,  how  he  did  jump 
and  shout !  His  arm  went  up,  even  though  he  had 
to  struggle  as  for  life  to  get  it  free  in  that  close, 
living  mass,  and  with  outreached  hand,  as  though 
he  would  clutch  the  letter  instantly,  he  called 
aloud,  "  Here  !  here  !  here  !  "  as  though  he  might 
miss  his  letter  by  not  speaking  quickly  enough. 

Hours  passed  in  this  distribution,  but  none  grew 
tired  through  waiting.  Yet,  as  the  pile  of  Libby 
letters  grew  smaller,  the  look  of  glad  expectancy 
on  many  a  face  grew  fainter,  and  when  the  last 
letter  was  called  by  the  adjutant,  and  the  crowd  of 
waiting  prisoners  dispersed,  there  were  hundreds 
of  sad  faces  which  had  hoped  for  home  letters  and 
been  disappointed.  For  twenty-four  hours  after 
that  we  could  tell  by  a  prisoner's  face  whether  he 
had  drawn  a  prize  or  a  blank  in  that  home-mail 
lottery ;  and  I  thought  at  the  time  that,  if  those  at 
home  realized  how  much  a  home  letter  was  to  a 


146         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

soldier  prisoner,  that  prison  mail  would  have  been 
larger,  and  its  letters  even  more  loving  and  tender. 

It  was  this  power  of  the  home  mail  in  the  army 
that  kept  the  citizen  soldier  from  losing  his  home 
self  in  his  army  self.  It  was  this  which  made  him, 
at  the  close  of  the  war,  drop  back  into  his  home 
life  with  even  more  of  love  for  it  than  before.  And 
it  is  one  of  the  results  of  this  influence  that  we 
have  in  our  country  to-day  so  much  of  good  as 
a  result  from  the  war  for  the  Union,  and  so  little 
of  evil. 

Not  all  home  letters  gave  cheer  to  soldiers  when 
they  came  to  them.  Many  a  letter  brought  cause 
for  sorrow  and  sadness  ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  a 
means  of  drawing  the  stricken  heart  homeward, 
and  of  making  home  more  precious  from  that  time 
forward.  The  first  letter  that  came  to  me  from  my 
home  by  flag  of  truce,  after  forty  days  of  weary 
waiting  in  a  South  Carolina  prison,  brought  the 
news  of  the  death  of  my  youngest  child  at  a  dis 
tance  from  my  home,  and  told  me  that  that  child's 
mother  would  wait  longingly  near  the  receiving- 
vault  where  the  little  one  was  resting,  until  I  should 
join  her,  on  my  release,  in  her  homeward  journey 
for  the  final  burial. 

Can  any  one  doubt  that  hearts  brought  together 
in  such  a  furnace  of  affliction  were  fused  into  a 
oneness  that  would  otherwise  have  been  impossi 
ble  ?  Is  it  not  plain  that  the  home  life  of  those 
hearts,  when  renewed  at  the  war's  close,  was  more 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail         147 

precious  for  the  abiding  memories  of  that  letter, 
with  its  message  of  loving  sadness,  read  in  the 
gloom  of  that  Southern  prison  ? 

After  my  release  from  imprisonment,  as  I  left  my 
quarters  one  midnight,  in  old  St.  Augustine,  to 
post  home  letters  for  the  outgoing  mail  of  the 
morning,  I  met  a  soldier  of  my  regiment  in  whose 
soul  there  was  midnight  through  the  gloom  of  the 
news  that  had  come  to  him  by  the  home  mail  of 
that  day.  A  letter  had  told  him  of  the  death  of  his 
young  wife,  whom  he  had  married  only  a  few  weeks 
before  he  left  his  home  for  his  regiment ;  and  it 
was  harder  than  ever  for  him  to  live  on  coura 
geously.  But  as  I  talked  with  him  tenderly  of  the 
only  comfort  possible  in  such  an  hour,  I  saw  that 
his  heart  was  open  to  the  best  influences  of  our 
Christian  faith  ;  and  I  saw  also  that  the  letter  from 
his  parents  which  had  brought  him  this  sad  news 
had  drawn  him  all  the  closer  to  his  early  home. 
Its  words  of  sympathizing  affection  had  touched 
and  softened  him,  and  he  evidently  felt  that,  with 
such  a  Saviour  and  with  such  parents,  he  was  not 
entirely  alone  in  the  world. 

"  Anyhow,  I've  got  a  good  father  and  a  good 
mother,"  he  said  ;  "  I  tell  you,  Chaplain,  they  are  a 
great  blessing  to  a  man." 

I  thanked  God,  then,  for  the  stars  that  shone  for 
him  in  his  midnight  sky ;  and  I  was  gladder  than 
ever  for  the  refining  influence  of  the  home  mail  in 
a  time  of  sorrow. 


148         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

It  was  harder  to  enforce  strict  discipline  among 
old  soldiers  against  the  temptations  of  the  newly 
arrived  home  mail,  than  under  almost  any  other 
circumstances.  Repeatedly  I  have  seen  men  at  the 
extreme  front,  in  the  evening,  insist  on  striking  a 
light  in  order  to  read  a  letter  just  received  from 
home,  when  the  orders  were  strict  that  no  lights 
should  be  shown,  since  the  lines  might  thereby  be 
disclosed  to  the  enemy.  And  when  the  mail  was 
distributed  just  as  a  battle  was  opening,  officers 
and  men  would  hasten  to  read  their  letters  as  they 
hurried  into  position,  as  if  they  feared  they  might 
be  killed  without  getting  the  latest  word  from 
home. 

The  very  face  of  the  orderly  who  brought  the 
home  mail,  day  by  day,  to  the  local  commands, 
became  associated  in  the  minds  of  the  soldiers  with 
thoughts  of  news  from  home  and  home  dear  ones. 
As  they  saw  him  leave  camp,  they  felt  that  he  was 
going  to  get  the  home  mail.  As  they  saw  him 
returning  with  the  mail,  their  hearts  bounded  with 
gladness,  in  the  thought  of  what  he  might  be 
bringing  to  them  personally.  And  when  an  officer 
saw  this  orderly  coming  toward  him,  on  the  eve  of 
a  battle,  or  while  on  special  duty  away  from  his 
command,  he  was  inclined  to  say,  as  Achish  said 
to  David,  "  Thou  art  good  in  my  sight  as  an  angel 
of  God." 

How  the  face  of  our  brigade  orderly,  who 
brought  our  home  mail  to  us  during  all  the  last 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail          1 49 

year  of  the  war,  stands  out  in  my  memory  to-day 
with  pleasantest  associations  !  Years  after  the  war, 
as  I  stood  up  in  the  desk  to  have  part  in  a  religious 
service  in  an  Eastern  Massachusetts  town,  I  un 
expectedly  saw  that  man  enter  the  room.  I  had 
not  seen  him  before  since  the  war.  Instantly  my 
whole  being  was  in  a  quiver.  I  wanted  to  call  out 
to  him,  to  ask  if  he  had  any  letters  for  me  to-day. 
I  felt,  in  the  sight  of  that  face,  as  I  think  the 
prophet  Elijah  would  have  felt,  if  he  had  suddenly 
seen,  in  the  stir  and  buzz  of  a  Samaritan  city,  the 
face  of  the  angel  who  had  brought  to  him,  when 
he  was  a  tired  and  disheartened  wanderer  in  the 
desert  of  Horeb,  the  food  and  drink  in  the  strength 
of  which  he  went  forty  days  more  in  the  path  of 
duty.  And  I  thought  then  how  good  it  was  to 
have  performed  such  service  for  others  as  could 
make  one's  very  face  an  earnest  of  refreshing  and 
cheer. 

The  soldier's  craving  for  news  from  home  was 
more  positive  and  conscious  than  even  his  desire 
for  the  end  of  the  "  cruel  war  "  he  was  fighting  to 
bring  about.  If  he  could  have  picked  his  place  for 
winter  quarters  at  the  front,  he  would  have  valued, 
as  next  to  wood  and  water  privileges,  a  station 
where  the  home  mail  came  regularly  and  with 
promptness. 

During  the  last  year  of  the  war,  when  interest 
centered  in  the  operations  in  Virginia,  under 
General  Grant's  eye,  the  great  Northern  mail  came 


150         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

daily  by  steamer  from  Washington  to  Fortress 
Monroe,  and  thence  up  the  James  River  to  City 
Point,  to  be  distributed  by  military  railroad  to  the 
Army  of  the  Potomac,  and  by  boat  to  Deep  Bot 
tom  for  the  Army  of  the  James, — far  out  to  the 
right  and  to  the  left.  A  delay  of  the  mail-boat 
on  a  winter's  day,  by  reason  of  ice  in  the  James, 
seemed  a  small  matter,  as  it  was  telegraphed  north 
ward  from  City  Point;  but  it  meant  a  great  deal 
to  the  waiting  soldiers  at  the  front. 

The  different  commands  usually  received  their 
portion  of  the  mail  in  the  early  evening.  But  when 
there  was  nothing  for  them,  it  was  a  bitter  disap 
pointment,  as  the  word  went  out  along  the  extend 
ing  lines. 

"  No  mail  to-night,  sir,"  said  a  score  of  orderlies 
to  a  score  of  division  commanders,  after  they  had 
visited  corps  headquarters,  and  learned  of  the  mail 
failure. 

"  No  mail  to-night,  sir,"  said  fifty  orderlies  to 
fifty  brigade  commanders,  on  their  return  from 
division  headquarters. 

"  No  mail  to-night,  sir,"  said  hundreds  of  order 
lies  to  hundreds  of  regimental  commanders,  as  they 
came  back  from  brigade  headquarters. 

"No  mail  to-night,  boys,"  said  thousands  of  first 
sergeants  to  the  men  of  their  companies,  when 
they  learned  the  truth  from  regimental  head 
quarters. 

"  No  mail  to-night "  was  the  word  passed  along 


Influence  of  the  Home  Mail          151 

the  lines  from  City  Point,  up  the  road  toward 
Petersburg,  and  into  the  bomb-proofs  and  trenches 
there,  and  away  to  the  Weldon  Road,  and  on  to 
ward  the  South  Side,  at  Meade's  extreme  left ;  and 
again  up  to  Bermuda  Hundred,  and  to  Deep  Bot 
tom,  and  to  Chaffin's  Bluff,  and  to  the  very  gates 
of  Richmond,  on  Meade's  extreme  right 

"  No  mail  last  night "  was  the  message  that 
went  out,  the  next  morning,  with  the  coffee,  to 
the  picket  lines  from  farthest  right  to  farthest  left. 

And  wherever  that  message  was  heard,  there 
was  heaviness  of  heart.  From  corps  commander 
to  solitary  sentry,  an  added  burden  was  on 
every  lonely  longing  soul.  The  night  shut  in 
more  gloomily,  and  the  morning  was  less  bright, 
now  that  there  were  no  home  words  of  love  and 
cheer  to  give  fresh  courage  and  hope.  The  hours 
dragged  heavily. 

"  Mail  come  yet  ?  "  was  repeated  a  myriad  of 
times  anxiously,  until  the  missing  mail  was  at  last 
at  the  front,  and  was  distributed  along  the  picket 
lines,  and  the  home  letters  were  read  with  added 
gladness  and  gratitude. 

Thirty-four  years  have  passed  since  then.  Many 
a  home  from  which  those  longed-for  letters  came 
regularly  to  the  army  is  now  broken  up.  Father 
and  mother  and  sister  and  brother  and  wife,  who 
then  wrote  lovingly,  have  ceased  their  labors.  But 
their  works  do  follow  them.  The  influence  of  the 
home  mail  is  precious  and  hallowed  in  the  hearts 


152         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

of  the  veteran  soldiers  of  the  army  of  the  Union, 
wherever  they  are  found  on  duty  to-day.  And 
many  an  old  soldier  who  stands  by  himself  on  the 
picket  front  of  life's  war  lines,  longing  for  a  fresh 
word  from  the  loved  ones  in  their  final  home,  hears 
faintly  the  old  refrain,  "  No  mail  to-night,"  as  the 
evening  shadows  close  in  about  him. 


CHAPTER  VII 

DEVOTION    TO    THE    FLAG 

From  time  immemorial  the  flag,  or  banner,  or 
ensign,  or  standard,  has  been  not  only  a  rallying- 
point  of  soldiers  in  warfare  but  an  inspiration  in 
battle  as  a  symbol  of  the  object  of  their  devotion, 
whether  that  devotion  rested  on  their  country,  their 
clan,  their  cause,  or  their  personal  commander. 
Far  back  in  the  days  of  ancient  Assyria,  Egypt, 
and  India,  the  uplifted  standard  was  shown  in  the 
forefront  of  the  battle  to  guide  and  cheer  the  sol 
diers  in  their  struggle. 

When  first  the  Hebrew  nation,  as  a  nation,  was 
tested  in  battle,  at  Rephidim,  Moses  told  Joshua 
that  he  would  stand  on  the  hill-top  overlooking  the 
field,  holding  the  uplifted  rod,  by  which  he  had 
wrought  victory  in  every  moral  conflict  with  the 
Egyptians,  as  the  standard  which  should  be  a 
promise  of  God's  favoring  presence.  So  long  as 
that  standard  was  borne  unfalteringly  the  Hebrews 
had  courage  and  confidence,  and  prevailed  over 
the  Amalekites  ;  but  when  it  wavered  or  went  down 
the  Hebrews  were  overborne.  And  when,  at  last, 
victory  was  won  through  the  upbearing  of  that 

153 


154         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

symbolic  rod,  Moses  built  an  altar  on  that  battle 
field  hill-top  and  called  it  "Jehovah-nissi,"  "the 
Lord  is  my  banner"  (Exod.  17  :  8-16). 

Similarly,  in  tribal  conflicts  in  the  Hauran  and 
the  Jaulan,  east  of  the  Jordan,  and  in  Mesopotamia, 
to-day,  it  is  the  leader's  standard, — a  staff  with  or 
without  a  distinguishing  streamer, — displayed  upon 
a  hill-top  above  the  field  of  battle,  that  animates  the 
fighters.  While  that  stands,  they  are  firm.  When 
that  goes  down,  they  waver  or  fall.  With  them  as 
with  others  the  standard  is  their  inspiration,  and 
the  object  of  their  devotion.  In  like  manner  in 
modern  times,  throughout  the  civilized  world,  the 
ensign  or  flag  centers  attention  in  battle,  and  is  the 
material  symbol  of  the  sentiment  which  inspires 
soldiers  to  do  and  to  die  for  that  which  is  more  to 
them  than  life  itself. 

Among  the  treasures  in  the  Imperial  Arsenal  at 
Berlin  none  appeal  more  strongly  to  the  soldier 
heart  to-day  than  the  gathered  standards  taken 
by  the  armies  of  Prussian  and  German  soldiers, 
from  the  days  of  Frederick  the  Great  to  the  Em 
peror  William  the  First.  No  sign  of  the  humilia 
tion  of  the  great  Napoleon  could  speak  with  such 
impressiveness  as  those  tattered  French  colors, 
with  their  surmounting  eagles,  which  were  upborne 
so  bravely  and  followed  so  faithfully,  as  inspiring 
assurances  of  the  great  commander's  presence  and 
power,  before  even  the  most  overwhelming  force 
could  beat  down  their  defenders  and  wrest  the 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  155 

symbols  of  national  life  from  the  grasp  of  the 
dying. 

Devotion  to  the  country's  flag  animates  all  peo 
ples,  from  the  blind  subjects  of  an  autocrat  to  the 
intelligent  citizens  of  a  republic.  The  stolid  Chi 
nese  look  up  to  the  dragon  flag  as  the  banner  of 
the  Son  of  Heaven,  and  are  content  to  live  or  to 
die  for  it  as  he  may  order.  At  a  coronation  of  a 
Tsar  of  the  Russias,  one  of  the  imposing  ceremo 
nies,  in  which  ruler  and  ruled  have  a  common 
interest,  is  the  committing  to  his  care  the  standard 
of  the  empire,  with  accompanying  prayers  for  its 
preservation,  he  swearing  fidelity  to  it  in  the  pres 
ence  of  the  representatives  of  his  vast  realm  and 
of  the  outside  powers  of  earth. 

The  worn-out  regimental  flags  of  the  British 
army  have  a  sacred  resting-place  in  the  cathedrals 
of  the  nation,  when  they  can  no  longer  do  duty  at 
the  head  of  the  columns  of  living  heroes.  In  grand 
old  St.  Paul's,  where  the  tombs  of  Nelson  and  of 
Wellington,  the  mighty  captains  of  the  ages,  teach 
their  lessons  of  patriotism  and  of  heroic  action  to 
successive  generations,  the  tattered  flags,  long  up 
borne  by  men  inspired  and  led  by  them,  also  bear 
witness  to  these  virtues  on  the  venerable  walls  of 
the  sacred  fane. 

Good  Dean  Church,  writing  to  Lord  Blackford, 
in  1876,  of  a  service  in  connection  with  the  re 
ception  of  worn-out  regimental  flags  in  St.  Paul's, 
said:  "We  have  just  been  having  an  interesting 


156         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

military  funzione — receiving  the  old  colors  of  the 
77th  Regiment  to  be  hung  up  in  the  cathedral. 
They  were  (i.  e.,  the  colors)  in  the  Crimea,  where 
the  77th  were  the  first  considerable  body  of  Eng 
lish  who  came  in  contact  with  the  Russians  on  the 
morning  of  Inkermann,  and  knocked  back  one  of 
SimonofTs  columns  in  a  wonderful  way,  according 
to  Kinglake.  They  [the  soldiers]  came,  some  two 
hundred,  laid  their  old  colors  on  the  altar,  and  then 
took  them  to  the  place  where  they  are  to  be  fixed ; 
and  then  all  defiled  before  them,  the  band  playing 
'Auld  Lang  Syne,'  and  the  colonel  giving  a  parting 
kiss  to  the  flags  as  he  delivered  them  to  me." 

More  than  twenty  years  later  it  was  said  of  a 
similar  service  in  St.  Paul's,  on  the  reception  of 
another  set  of  regimental  colors  :  "The  escort  of 
the  Royal  Fusiliers,  marching  up  the  nave,  were 
received  by  the  choir  and  the  clergy.  The  sub 
alterns  carrying  the  colors  to  the  chancel  steps, 
delivered  them  to  the  Dean,  who  laid  them  upon 
the  altar.  After  a  short  service  the  flags  were  pre 
sented  by  the  Dean  to  their  former  bearers,  who, 
accompanied  by  the  clergy  and  choristers,  placed 
them  in  position.  The  Dean  then  gave  the  ad 
dress,  and  the  service  concluded  with  the  hymn, 
'The  Son  of  God  goes  forth  to  war.'  " 

Every  United  States  citizen  feels  that  in  a  very 
real  sense  he  is  one  of  the  rulers  of  the  republic, 
and  that  therefore  his  country's  flag  is  his  flag,  and 
he  is  set  to  be  its  defender.  His  realm  as  a  citizen 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  157 

is  as  real  as  a  Tsar's  realm.  When  the  supremacy 
of  our  flag,  even  within  the  limits  of  our  republic, 
was  brought  in  question,  every  sentiment  of  patriot 
ism  and  loyalty  combined  to  make  a  citizen  soldier 
in  the  field  the  flag's  devoted  and  determined  pro 
tector. 

After  one  of  our  battles  in  South  Carolina,  while 
preparations  were  making  for  another  fight,  I  saw 
a  newly  appointed  color-sergeant  lying  in  line  with 
the  men,  and  tenderly  shielding  the  colors  with  his 
body  from  a  driving  rainstorm. 

"Sergeant,"  I  said,  "I  hear  that  the  colonel  has 
given  you  the  colors  to  carry.  I  congratulate 
you." 

"Yes,  Chaplain,"  he  responded,  looking  down 
on  his  charge  with  affectionate  pride  ;  "  and  I  don't 
know  of  anything  better  than  this  that  I'm  fighting 
for.  I  think  it  will  take  more  than  one  bullet  to 
bring  me  down  now." 

A  fair-faced  young  soldier  whom  I  knew  carried 
the  colors  of  a  Pennsylvania  regiment  in  one  of  the 
battles  of  the  Peninsula  campaign  under  General 
McClellan.  A  bullet  shattered  his  right  arm  and 
the  colors  fell  to  the  ground.  Snatching  them  up 
with  his  left  hand,  the  brave  boy  pushed  forward 
undaunted  until  a  bullet  through  his  chest  gave 
him  his  death-wound.  Only  then  did  he  yield  the 
charge  of  the  colors  to  a  color-corporal,  who  caught 
them  from  his  dying  grasp. 

It  was  not  an  uncommon  thing  for  a  regimental 


158         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

flag  to  have  two,  or  four,  or  even  more,  noble  fel 
lows  fall  in  its  upbearing  in  a  single  fight.  In  the 
military  museum  at  Albany  is  a  tattered  flag  of 
the  Thirtieth  New  York  Regiment,  on  the  staff  of 
which  is  this  inscription :  "At  the  last  battle  of  Bull 
Run,  these  colors  fell  during  the  engagement  in 
the  hands  of  ten  different  soldiers,  shot  dead  on  the 
field.  Thirty-six  balls  passed  through  the  stars  and 
stripes,  and  the  staff  was  shot  into  splinters."  Such 
a  record  gives  point  to  the  story  of  the  devoted 
soldier  who,  catching  up  the  falling  colors  as  they 
went  down  again  in  a  fight,  called  out  heroically, 
"  Here  are  two  minutes  more  for  the  old  flag  ! "  and 
dashed  ahead  into  the  jaws  of  death. 

In  the  first  severe  engagement  of  which  I  was  a 
witness,  our  color-sergeant  and  one  of  the  color- 
corporals  were  badly  wounded,  and  were  borne  to 
the  rear  and  laid  on  the  ground  side  by  side  at  the 
field  hospital.  As  I  knelt  by  the  corporal  his  first 
words  were  : 

"  I  did  what  I  could  to  guard  the  colors,  Chap 
lain.  I'd  stand  by  'em  to  the  last." 

"I  know  you  would,  Corporal,"  I  replied,  "you 
were  always  faithful." 

"Where's  the  regiment  now?"  he  asked. 

"It's  gone  on,  and  finished  its  work,"  I  said. 

"  Glory  ! "  he  cried. 

As  the  surgeon  told  me  that  the  corporal  had 
but  a  few  minutes  to  live,  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
any  message  to  send  to  his  parents. 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  159 

"Tell  them,"  he  answered  cheerily,  "that  I  gave 
my  life  for  liberty,  and  I  only  wish  I  could  give 
another." 

Just  then  the  major  of  the  regiment  made  his 
appearance,  the  battle  being  over.  At  once  the 
wounded  sergeant  called  to  me  : 

"  Chaplain,  there's  the  major  ;  won't  you  ask  him 
if  the  colors  are  safe  ?  " 

The  colors  were  first  in  the  thoughts  of  their  sol 
dier  guardians,  at  the  front  and  at  the  rear. 

Patriotism,  loyalty,  devotion,  centered  in  the  flag 
as  a  symbol,  as  it  could  not,  in  the  nature  of  things, 
center  in  anything  else.  Soldiers  came  to  love  and 
honor  the  flag  above  all  other  visible  objects.  They 
looked  at  it  in  battle  as  that  for  which  they  must  be 
willing  to  die.  They  looked  at  it  in  quieter  times 
as  that  which  had  their  heart's  affection,  for  which 
they  had  already  done  so  much,  and  for  which  they 
were  willing  to  do  yet  more.  The  very  sight  of  it 
was  a  call  to  heroism,  and  an  inspiration  to  noble 
thoughts  and  deeds.  The  formal  bringing  of  the 
colors  to  their  place  in  the  line,  at  parade  or  review, 
was  a  ceremony  that  never  lost  its  power  through 
familiarity.  It-  grew  in  impressiveness  with  the 
growing  experience  of  soldiers  in  army  service.  It 
intensified  the  sacredness  of  their  guide  and  their 
charge. 

When  the  re-enlisted  veterans  of  the  Tenth  Con 
necticut  and  the  Twenty-fourth  Massachusetts  were 
going  North  at  the  same  time  from  St.  Augustine 


i6o         IV ar  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

on  their  "veteran  furlough,"  there  was  a  lively 
scene  at  the  pier  where  lay  the  two  transports  that 
were  to  take  them  to  Hilton  Head  for  a  new  start 
homeward.  Those  who  were  to  go  were  exchanging 
hearty  farewells  with  those  who  were  to  stay  ;  for 
even  a  brief  absence  in  war  time  involved  peculiar 
possibilities,  and  was  exceptionally  impressive.  Resi 
dents  of  the  old  Spanish  city  were  also  present  to 
bid  good-by  to  their  friends,  or  to  watch  the  vete 
rans  depart  All  seemed  absorbed  in  each  other's 
words  and  ways  as  they  chatted  merrily  together, 
crowding  the  head  of  the  pier,  when  the  sound  of 
drums  and  fifes  coming  up  the  street  called  the 
attention  of  all. 

Permission  had  been  granted  the  veterans  of  the 
Twenty-fourth  Massachusetts  to  take  with  them  one 
stand  of  their  regimental  colors  on  their  veteran 
furlough,  and  these  were  now  being  borne  to  the 
transport  under  a  guard  of  honor.  Instantly  every 
voice  in  that  crowd  was  hushed.  Without  orders 
the  soldiers  drew  themselves  into  line  on  either  side 
of  the  pier,  and  stood  at  attention,  with  bared  heads 
and  reverent  mien,  as  the  colors  and  the  guard 
moved  down  the  length  of  the  extended  pier  to 
the  waiting  vessel.  Every  soldier  heart  was  thrilled, 
and  eyes  glistened  with  tearful  pride  and  tender 
affection,  as  the  dear  old  flag  was  before  them 
once  more.  Such  a  scene  was  not  to  be  witnessed 
except  among  soldiers,  but  there  it  called  for  no 
explanation  or  defense. 


_ 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  161 

As  in  the  battle  between  Israel  and  Amalek,  so 
with  soldiers  in  any  conflict  :  if  the  hand  that  holds 
their  regimental  colors  is  firm  and  steady,  the  men 
who  look  toward  that  standard  have  courage  and 
confidence  ;  but  if  the  colors  are  lowered,  or  driven 
back,  the  same  men  lose  hope,  and  are  liable  to  be 
panic-stricken.  On  the  same  field  I  saw  this  illus 
trated  in  two  movements  on  successive  days. 

It  was  near  Deep  Bottom,  on  the  north  bank  of 
the  James  River,  Virginia.  A  regiment  that  had 
just  come  into  the  department  was  directed  to 
occupy  a  position,  and  establish  a  picket  line,  where 
the  enemy  was  in  small  force.  As  the  regiment 
neared  the  enemy's  pickets,  and  was  fired  on,  the 
color-bearer  and  color-guard  took  fright  and  re 
treated.  Instantly  a  panic  seized  the  entire  regi 
ment,  and  officers  and  men  fled  disgracefully  to  the 
rear. 

The  next  day  a  brigade  from  another  command 
was  ordered  to  occupy  the  same  position  and  drive 
back  the  enemy,  now  heavily  reinforced.  A  sharp 
musketry  fire,  with  artillery,  caused  the  veteran  sol 
diers  to  waver  and  fall  back,  although  in  tolerable 
order.  Then  the  brigade  commander,  Colonel 
Lynch  of  Philadelphia,  a  brave  and  gallant  officer, 
took  a  color-sergeant  with  his  colors  from  one  of 
the  regiments,  and  advanced  with  him  to  the  rise 
of  ground  from  which  they  had  retired,  and,  there 
making  a  stand,  called  on  the  men  to  rally  on  their 
colors.  This  appeal  was  irresistible.  The  sight 


1 62          War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

of  the  imperiled  colors  was  an  inspiration.  The 
soldiers  heeded  the  call  of  their  commander,  and 
the  enemy's  position  was  quickly  carried. 

One  of  the  saddest  sights  to  a  prisoner  of  war 
was  the  flag  of  his  countiy  dishonored  or  triumphed 
over  by  his  captors.  It  gave  an  added  pang  of 
sorrow  to  a  soldier  prisoner,  as  he  entered  Libby 
Prison,  to  see  in  the  commandant's  office  the  Ameri 
can  flag  displayed  on  the  wall  "  Union  down." 
And  there  was  no  sight  that  gave  such  gladness  to 
a  released  prisoner's  eyes  as  the  dear  old  Stars  and 
Stripes  on  the  flag-of-truce  boat  at  City  Point,  as  he 
came  from  the  Confederate  boat  floating  the  Stars 
and  Bars.  A  soldier  on  duty  on  the  Federal  ex 
change  boat,  the  New  York,  said  that  he  had  seen 
many  a  released  prisoner  drop  on  his  knees,  as  he 
came  once  more  under  the  Stars  and  Stripes,  and 
thank  God  that  again  he  could  see  that  flag  flying 
triumphantly. 

In  a  demonstration  against  Richmond,  in  con 
junction  with  a  reconnoissance  in  force  from  an 
other  direction,  during  the  later  months  of  the  war, 
a  portion  of  the  home  guard  of  the  Confederate 
capital  was  ordered  out  to  repel  the  minor  attack. 
A  member  of  this  home  guard  was  wounded,  and 
fell  into  our  hands.  As  I  stooped  over  him  to  in 
quire  into  his  condition,  he  told  me  that  he  was  a 
Union  man,  and  that  he  had  never  been  in  a  fight 
until  this  occasion,  when  he  was  forced  out  of  the 
city  to  meet  our  advance.  Yet  even  then  he  had 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  163 

not  fired  a  shot  against  our  lines.  He  asked  me  to 
take  his  wallet  from  his  pocket,  and  open  it,  as  his 
wounded  right  arm  prevented  his  doing  so.  In  one 
of  the  inner  folds  of  that  wallet  I  found  a  tiny  United 
States  flag  printed  in  colors,  together  with  a  certifi 
cate  from  a  well-known  Union  man  of  Richmond, 
vouching  for  the  trustworthiness  of  the  bearer. 
The  poor  fellow  seemed  to  think  it  hard  that  he 
was  a  wounded  prisoner  in  our  lines,  when  he  bore 
on  his  person  a  copy  of  the  old  flag  as  his  treasure 
and  his  talisman.  But  it  had  its  influence  in  secur 
ing  for  him  special  favor,  as  a  Union  man  and  a 
lover  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes. 

There  were  many  such  instances  of  love  for  the 
old  flag  on  the  Southern  side  of  the  dividing  line  in 
war  time.  Even  among  those  who  fought  under  the 
Stars  and  Bars  there  was  not  wholly  lacking  a  rec 
ognition  of  the  superiority  of  the  Stars  and  Stripes, 
with  their  patriotic  and  inspiring  history  and  asso 
ciations  as  a  national  flag.  As  I  talked  with  a 
group  of  Confederate  soldiers,  while  waiting  at  a 
railway  station  in  South  Carolina  on  my  way  from 
Columbia  to  Richmond  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  I  was 
asked  by  one  why  we  made  such  a  fuss  over  our 
flag,  as  if  that  were  the  only  thing  worth  having  or 
fighting  for.  Before  I  could  reply,  another  Con 
federate  spoke  up  warmly,  as  if  out  of  the  memo 
ries  of  the  Mexican  War  or  other  national  service  : 

"  Oh,  well !  as  to  that,  the  Stars  and  Stripes  are 
just  the  sauciest  rag  to  fight  under  that  ever  was 


1 64         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

swung  on  a  battle-field  ;  and  I  don't  wonder  they 
like  that  flag." 

Any  old  soldier  on  our  side  of  the  lines  could 
say  Amen  to  that  sentiment. 

In  the  final  attack  on  Petersburg,  which  resulted 
in  its  capture  and  in  the  breaking  of  the  Confed 
erate  defenses,  never  to  be  re-established,  our  brig 
ade  was  assigned  to  assault  Fort  Gregg,  one  of  the 
star  forts  on  the  strong  inner  line  of  works.  That 
successful  assault  was  one  of  the  severest  and  most 
gallant  actions  of  the  closing  scenes  of  the  war. 
And  in  this  assault  the  devotion  of  soldiers  to  their 
flag  bore  a  conspicuous  part 

It  was  impossible  to  keep  up  an  unbroken  line 
in  crossing  the  fire-swept  plain  of  death,  but  the 
orders  were  for  every  man  to  make,  at  any  cost,  for 
that  fort,  and  for  all  to  rally  on  the  face  of  its  em 
bankment.  The  colors  were,  of  course,  to  be  the 
rallying  -  point,  and  to  get  those  colors  there  was 
the  duty  and  the  pride  of  their  devoted  bearers  and 
guard.  At  the  word,  our  men  started  on  the  run. 
Both  the  national  and  the  state  flags  were  in  the 
race  ;  but  they  were  a  special  target  for  the  enemy, 
as  well  as  an  object  of  devoted  interest  to  our  men. 
Officers  and  men  dropped  by  the  way,  but  others 
pushed  on,  and  the  colors  were  quickly  taken  up  by 
new  bearers  as  often  as  they  went  down. 

A  color  -  sergeant  bearing  our  state  flag  had 
dropped  just  before  this  charge  wras  ordered.  Cor 
poral  Northrop  took  the  colors  in  his  place.  He 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  165 

fell  wounded  before  the  ditch  was  reached.  Cor 
poral  Phillips  and  Corporal  Parmalee  of  the  color- 
guard  caught  at  the  falling  flag,  in  the  storm  of 
grape  and  bullets,  saying  cheerily  : 

"  Let's  take  hold  of  it  together,  and  run  for  the 
fort.  Maybe  one  of  us  will  get  there." 

Both  of  them  got  there.  Through  the  ditch,  up 
the  slope  toward  the  parapet,  they  carried  the  blue 
flag  of  Connecticut.  It  was  the  first  flag  on  the 
fort.  There  they  held  it  up  as  a  rallying-point  for 
the  irregular  besieging  line  struggling  across  the 
death-swept  plain.  Corporal  Button,  who  was  one 
of  the  first  men  to  get  a  foothold  on  the  slope, 
caught  at  the  hand  of  one  of  the  color-guard,  even 
in  the  excitement  of  battle,  and  called  out  joy 
ously  : 

"Oh!  I'm  so  proud  to  see  that  flag  the  first 
here." 

Springing  then  to  his  work  he  fell  severely 
wounded,  and  could  have  no  farther  part  in  the 
fight,  except  to  call  inspiringly  to  his  comrades 
to  keep  at  it  and  put  the  thing  through.  Yet 
that  part  he  did  faithfully  to  the  end.  Corporal 
Phillips  was  barely  nineteen  at  that  time,  yet  he 
had  been  already  three  years  in  service.  As  he 
held  up  that  flag  above  the  parapet,  his  life  was 
nothing  to  him  in  its  comparison  ;  yet  it  was  a  life 
well  worth  living.  Reporting  his  service  after 
wards  to  his  commander,  he  said  drily  : 

"  I  worried  'em  with  the  flag.      I'd  shake  it  in 


1 66         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

their  faces,  and,  when  they'd  grab  it,  Parmalee 
would  shoot  'em." 

Victory  was  finally  won  only  by  bayonet  and 
musket  butt  That  state  flag  had  never  been  in  a 
fight  before.  It  was  newly  presented  to  the  regi 
ment,  the  old  one  being  worn  out  in  prolonged  ser 
vice.  Yet  that  new  flag  had  twenty-six  bullet-holes 
in  it,  and  three  more  in  its  staff,  at  the  close  of  the 
fight.  Only  soldiers  who  have  watched  and  de 
fended  a  flag  in  the  hours  of  battle  can  realize  how 
much  that  flag  was  to  those  who  gave  their  lives  for 
it,  or  who  were  ready  to  die. 

This  feeling  of  love  for  the  flag  as  the  visible 
symbol  of  our  country's  unity  and  government, 
which  increased  in  intensity  and  dominance  as  the 
war  went  on,  was  prominent  with  United  States 
soldiers  when  the  war  broke  out.  When,  in 
April,  1861,  the  few  officers  and  men  of  the  regular 
army  then  stationed  at  San  Antonio,  Texas,  were 
taken  prisoners  by  Colonel  Van  Dorn,  of  the  South 
ern  army,  the  feeling  of  patriotism  demanded  of 
the  soldiers  that  the  secessionists  should  not  have 
possession  of  the  national  colors.  At  the  timely 
suggestion  of  Lieutenant  Hartz,  Sergeant-major 
Joseph  K.  Wilson  and  Corporal  John  C.  Hesse 
of  the  Eighth  Infantry  determined  to  conceal  them, 
and  bring  them  north  to  Washington.  The  valued 
colors,  which  had  been  carried  through  the  Mexi 
can  War,  were,  therefore,  taken  from  their  staffs, 
and  wound  around  the  bodies  of  these  soldiers, 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  167 

under  their  clothing,  and  thus  borne  in  safety  to 
army  headquarters.  These  two  men  were,  subse 
quently,  awarded  medals  of  honor  for  this  service, 
by  resolution  of  Congress. 

Again  and  again,  during  the  war,  regimental 
colors  were  similarly  torn  from  their  staffs  and  con 
cealed  on  the  person  of  the  color-bearer,  or  of 
some  officer  who  took  them  in  charge,  when  a 
regiment  was  surrounded  and  captured,  and  were 
thus  retained,  during  a  term  of  imprisonment,  for 
final  restoration  to  the  regiment.  More  than  one 
set  of  colors  was  thus  concealed  under  the  clothing 
of  officers  confined  in  Libby  Prison.  At  times  a 
flag  was  torn  in  pieces,  and  its  fragments,  divided 
among  officers  and  men  for  preservation  during 
their  imprisonment,  were  subsequently  joined  to 
gether  again  in  a  common  whole  for  use  in  a  new 
campaign. 

A  flag  of  this  kind  made  up  from  fragments  thus 
preserved  is  still  to  be  seen  in  the  Statehouse  of 
Connecticut  as  a  relic  of  the  Civil  War.  The  old 
colors  were  carried  by  the  Sixteenth  Connecticut 
Regiment  at  the  time  of  the  capture  of  Plymouth, 
North  Carolina,  in  1 864.  According  to  an  inscrip 
tion  on  the  new  flag,  these  colors  "  were  torn  into 
shreds  by  the  officers  and  men,  and  concealed 
upon  their  persons  in  order  to  save  them  from  the 
enemy.  .  .  .  Many  of  the  men  bearing  these  relics 
were  taken  to  Southern  prisons,  where,  under  un 
told  privations,  they  still  sacredly  watched  over 


1 68         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  kept  their  sacred  trusts,  subsequently  returning 
them  to  their  native  state."  The  fragments,  when 
brought  together,  were  sewed  on  a  new  flag,  being 
deemed  all  the  more  precious  because  of  the  vicis 
situdes  of  their  varied  war  experiences. 

Fifteen  years  after  the  war  there  was,  in  Con 
necticut,  a  notable  illustration  of  the  abiding  love 
for  the  flag  in  the  hearts  of  old  soldiers.  The  regi 
mental  colors  of  the  Connecticut  troops  were,  on 
their  return  from  the  war,  deposited  for  the  time 
being  in  the  state  arsenal  at  Hartford,  with  the  in 
tention  of  having  them  finally  removed  to  the  new 
statehouse  then  in  contemplation.  September  17, 
1879,  was,  by  a  formal  act  of  the  legislature  and  a 
proclamation  of  the  governor,  designated  as  "  Battle 
Flag  Day,"  when  the  regimental  colors  should 
be  removed  from  their  temporary  to  their  perma 
nent  resting-place  ;  and  all  surviving  soldiers  of 
Connecticut  were  invited  to  assist  in  the  ceremonies 
of  their  removal. 

More  than  eight  thousand  veteran  soldiers  re 
sponded  to  this  call.  The  city  was  decked  in 
holiday  attire.  Including  the  military  escort,  there 
were  more  than  ten  thousand  soldiers  in  line  ;  and 
fully  seventy  thousand  spectators  were  watching  the 
impressive  movement.  Major-General  Joseph  R. 
Hawley  commanded  the  military ;  and  there  rode 
with  him  at  the  head  of  the  column  distinguished 
officers  of  the  army  and  navy,  besides  his  personal 
staff,  made  up  of  Connecticut  officers  in  the  Civil 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  169 

War.      Every  officer  and  man  knew  what  it  was  to 
follow  and  to  value  the  flag. 

It  was  far  more  than  an  ordinary  military  parade 
or  any  civic  celebration.  The  circumstances  of 
the  occasion  appealed  to  the  soldier's  sense  of 
duty,  and  moved  the  profoundest  depths  of  his 
patriotic  sentiment  and  of  his  heroic  devotion  to 
his  country's  flag.  The  regimental  colors,  which 
those  soldiers  had  defended  on  the  field  to  the  last, 
and  which  many  of  their  fellows  had  died  for,  were 
not  yet  safe  in  their  final  resting-place,  and  the 
state  had  made  a  new  call  on  her  soldier  sons  to 
bring  them  home  for  safe  keeping.  At  this  call 
the  more  stalwart  had  sprung  forward  with  alacrity, 
while  the  sick  and  wounded  had  summoned  their 
failing  strength  for  one  more  march  in  support  of 
the  dear  old  flag. 

"  Grandest  of  mortal  sights 

The  sun-browned  ranks  to  view — 

The  Colors  ragg'd  in  a  hundred  fights, 

And  the  dusty  Frocks  of  Blue  ! ' ' 

A  color-sergeant,  partially  paralyzed  by  a  shot 
through  the  body,  had  such  a  desire  to  be  with  his 
colors  until  they  were  in  the  place  of  their  final 
keeping  that  he  persuaded  two  of  his  comrades  to 
support  him  on  either  side,  while  his  trembling 
hands  clung  to  the  color-staff,  and  he  was  helped 
along  step  by  step  until  he  yielded  his  charge  into 
the  hands  of  the  governor's  representative  for 


170         War  Memories  of  a  CJiaplain 

deposit  under  the  statehouse  dome,  and  his  last 
soldier  work  was  done. 

After  a  march  through  the  principal  streets  of 
the  city,  the  soldier  procession  formed  in  front  of  the 
new  statehouse,  on  the  beautiful  park  to  the  north 
of  it.  The  line  of  color-bearers  was  in  front  of 
the  veterans.  There  were  about  eighty  flags  in 
all.  As  these  were  brought  forward,  one  by  one, 
their  bearers,  amid  the  cheers  of  their  old  regiments, 
gave  them  into  the  hands  of  General  Hawley, 
who  in  turn  passed  them  over  to  Governor  Andrews, 
and  he  accepted  them,  in  the  name  of  the  state, 
for  permanent  preservation. 

It  was  a  brilliant  assemblage  in  front  of  the  state 
house,  and  the  act  of  surrendering  and  receiving 
the  battle-flags  was  impressive  beyond  description. 
When,  for  instance,  the  bullet-pierced  and  weather- 
stained  colors  of  the  Seventh  Connecticut  Regi 
ment,  General  Hawley' s  own  battalion,  were  brought 
forward,  the  sight  of  them  was  overpowering  to  the 
General.  Tears  filled  his  eyes,  his  face  was  suf 
fused  with  emotion,  and  when  he  attempted  to 
speak  the  words  of  acknowledgment  to  their  brave 
bearer  he  could  not  utter  a  word  ;  but  his  silence, 
as  he  simply  waved  his  hand  in  the  direction  of 
the  Governor,  was  more  eloquent  than  any  speech 
could  have  been. 

Governor  Andrews,  in  receiving  these  battle-flags 
in  the  name  of  the  state,  said  : 

"They  come  back  thus  riddled  by  shot,  tattered 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  1 7 1 

and  torn,  blackened  and  grimed  with  the  smoke 
and  powder  of  battle,  but  they  bring  us  no  word 
of  flight  or  dishonor.  That  sacred  and  mysterious 
sympathy  which  goes  out  from  almost  every  fire 
side  within  our  borders  to  all  the  battle-fields  of 
the  rebellion  finds  in  these  ragged  ensigns  its  dear 
est  and  its  intensest  expression.  Lovingly  and 
tenderly  let  us  lay  them  away  in  the  motherly  arms 
of  the  state  whose  trophies  they  now  become,  that 
they  may  teach  their  lessons  of  patriotism  and  duty 
to  all  future  generations." 

A  cynical  German  socialist  who  had  sneered  at 
American  institutions,  and  who  had  been  watching, 
as  a  curious  observer,  the  demonstrations  of  this 
"Battle  Flag  Day,"  said  at  the  close  of  the  pro 
ceedings,  in  view  of  the  evidence  it  furnished  of 
the  abounding  patriotism  and  loyalty,  and  love  of 
the  country's  flag  : 

"  I  have  no  fear  now  of  this  country  or  of  its 
government  With  such  men  for  its  supporters, 
and  with  such  sentiments  controlling  them,  this 
country  is  safe." 

Among  the  lessons  impressed  on  the  young 
cadets  in  their  training  in  the  Military  Academy  at 
West  Point,  none  is  deemed  of  more  profound  and 
practical  importance  than  the  duty  of  holding  in 
high  honor  the  national  flag  as  the  symbol  of  all 
that  is  worth  living  and  dying  for  by  a  soldier  of 
his  country.  When  the  colors  are  brought  to  their 
place  in  the  daily  parade,  and  on  every  special 


172         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

occasion,  and  again  as  they  are  taken  back  under 
guard,  they  are  received  and  accompanied  with 
manifest  signs  of  pre-eminent  honor,  and  in  the 
reverent  salute  which  is  given  them,  as  they  come 
and  go,  every  officer  and  soldier  has  an  apprecia 
tive  share.  On  the  last  visit  to  West  Point  of 
General  Sherman,  as  he  was  passing  with  interest 
from  one  point  to  another  of  the  place  where  he 
had  received  his  lessons  as  a  young  cadet,  the 
cadets  were  impressed  by  the  fact  that,  as  he  came 
to  the  national  flag,  the  grim  old  hero  of  a  hundred 
battles  bared  his  head,  and  reverently  bowed  it  in 
silent  homage  before  that  symbol  of  all  for  which 
he  had  served  and  battled  and  commanded  in  his 
years  of  warfare.  The  old  flag  had  his  heart's  affec 
tion,  and  that  affection  was  ready  to  show  itself  at 
all  times. 

When  the  flag  goes  up  on  a  naval  vessel  at  sun 
rise  each  morning,  every  sailor  on  deck  faces  toward 
it,  and  gives  a  formal  salute.  So  deep  and  real  is 
this  feeling  of  veneration  for  the  flag  as  a  sacred 
symbol  in  the  heart  of  every  officer  and  sailor  in  the 
navy  that  it  shows  itself  on  every  occasion.  A  gal 
lant  admiral  was  shown,  at  a  prominent  New  York 
jeweler's,  a  handsome  sword,  made  for  presentation 
to  a  volunteer  officer.  It  was  laid  on  a  table 
spread  with  an  American  flag.  The  Admiral  pro 
tested  at  this  use  of  the  flag  for  a  table-cover.  It 
was  said  in  explanation,  "This  sword  is  for  a  de 
fender  of  the  flag." 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  173 

"  The  place  for  a  defender  is  under  the  flag,  not 
above  it,"  said  the  Admiral.  "And  it  stirs  my 
indignation  to  see  a  flag  used  as  a  table-cloth  on 
any  pretext" 

On  April  14,  1861,  the  national  flag  was  first 
dishonored  by  its  lowering  above  Fort  Sumter,  in 
Charleston  harbor,  under  an  attack  upon  it  by 
those  who  should  have  been  its  defenders.  "  The 
whole  land  rose  up,  when  the  flag  came  down,  as 
if  inspired  unconsciously  by  the  breath  of  the 
Almighty  and  the  power  of  Omnipotence."  Four 
years  later,  on  April  14,  1865,  General  Robert 
Anderson,  who,  as  Major  Anderson,  had  sadly 
lowered  that  flag  "  in  that  cope  of  fire,"  gladly 
raised  it  again  with  his  own  hand,  over  a  re 
deemed  land  and  a  restored  Union,  while  Hemy 
Ward  Beecher  spoke  eloquent  words  of  rejoicing 
and  thanksgiving. 

"At  a  cannon-shot  upon  this  fort,"  he  said, 
"the  nation,  as  if  it  had  been  a  trained  army 
lying  on  its  arms  awaiting  a  signal,  rose  up,  and 
began  a  war  of  defense  which  for  awfulness  rises 
into  the  first  rank  of  eminence.  The  front  of 
battle,  going  with  the  sun,  was  twelve  hundred 
miles  long;  and  the  depth,  measured  along  a  me 
ridian,  was  a  thousand  miles.  In  this  vast  area 
more  than  two  million  men,  first  and  last,  for  four 
years,  have,  in  skirmish,  fight,  and  battle,  met  in 
more  than  a  thousand  conflicts ;  while  a  coast  and 
river  line,  not  less  than  four  thousand  miles  in 


174         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

length,  has  swarmed  with  fleets  freighted  with  artil 
lery."  "That  long  night  is  ended!  And  for  this 
returning  day  we  have  come  from  afar  to  rejoice 
and  give  thanks."  "Reverently,  piously,  in  hope 
ful  patriotism,  we  unfurl  this  banner,  as  of  old  the 
bow  was  spread  on  the  cloud,  and  with  solemn 
fervor  beseech  God  to  look  upon  it,  and  make  it 
the  memorial  of  an  everlasting  covenant  and  decree 
that  never  again  on  this  fair  land  shall  a  deluge  of 
blood  prevail." 

Thirty  years  after  that  new  upraising  of  the  old 
flag  on  Fort  Sumter,  on  April  14,  1895,  there  was 
a  gathering  in  Brooklyn,  New  York,  of  soldiers 
and  sailors  who  had  served  in  war  time  in  the 
vicinity  of  Fort  Sumter,  in  the  finally  successful 
effort  to  restore  that  flag  to  its  place.  Every  officer 
and  man  present  had  battled  and  endured  in  the 
trenches  of  the  sea  islands,  or  had  done  service  in 
the  vessels  of  the  navy  before  Charleston  harbor  or 
off  Fort  Sumter.  General  Stewart  L.  Woodford, 
afterwards  our  Minister  to  Spain,  presided.  That 
identical  flag,  which  had  been  lowered  by  General 
Anderson  in  1861,  and  raised  by  him  again  in 
1865,  and  which  had  not  afterwards  been  seen  in 
public  since  it  was  wrapped  above  his  coffin  in  1871, 
was  once  more  exhibited,  by  the  favor  of  Mrs. 
Anderson,  who  had  it  in  keeping.  It  was  stretched 
across  the  platform  behind  the  patriotic  speakers. 
Its  rents  from  shot  and  shell  were  more  eloquent 
than  Caesar's  gaping  wounds,  telling  their  story  by 


Devotion  to  the  Flag  175 

their  "poor,  dumb  mouths."  It  was  accompanied 
to  that  gathering,  at  the  special  request  of  Mrs. 
Anderson,  by  members  of  the  old  Anderson's 
Zouaves  as  a  bodyguard  of  honor.  As  one  and 
another  of  the  officers  who  spoke  pointed  to  that 
old  flag,  and  reminded  us  all  of  what  it  had  stood 
for,  and  of  what  it  had  cost,  in  those  four  years 
of  war,  to  restore  it  to  its  rightful  supremacy,  the 
scene  was  dramatic  and  impressive.  All  realized 
the  worth  of  that  flag,  and  the  value  of  the  efforts 
to  restore  its  supremacy. 

Just  before  the  speakers  sat  an  old  United  States 
soldier  who  had  battled  through  the  war  and  real 
ized  the  full  force  of  all  that  was  said.  Being  in  a 
soldier's  uniform,  he  seemed  to  feel  that  it  would 
be  unsoldierly  to  weep ;  but  being  a  soldier,  with  a 
soldier's  heart  and  memories,  the  tears  would  well 
up  from  his  heart  and  stream  from  his  eyes  down  his 
furrowed  cheeks.  Once  they  were  too  much  for 
him,  as  a  touching  reference  was  made  by  a  speaker 
to  a  soldier's  feelings  as  he  watched  his  flag  in  the 
hour  of  battle.  Quickly  and  furtively  he  wiped  the 
flowing  tears  from  his  cheeks  with  a  small  hand 
kerchief,  which  he  hid  again  from  sight  as  if  half 
ashamed  of  his  weakness,  and  straightened  himself 
as  before  for  duty. 

That  was  a  typical  scene.  No  sight  can  equal 
that  of  the  old  flag  to  an  old  soldier.  It  is  so  to 
day  as  it  was  in  the  long-gone  days  of  war.  The 
sight  of  sights  to  a  veteran  on  any  memorial  occa- 


176         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

sion  are  the  dear  old  tattered  battle-flags.  He 
knows  what  it  cost  to  bring  them  to  their  pres 
ent  state.  To  him  they  stand  for  an  imperiled  and 
redeemed  country,  and  for  the  price  of  its  saving. 
He  realizes  that 

"For  every  stripe  of  stainless  hue 
And  every  star  in  the  field  of  blue 
Ten  thousand  of  the  brave  and  true 
Have  laid  them  down  and  died." 

The  reverent  cry  to  God  of  his  loyal  heart  is, 

"Thou  hast  given  a  banner  to  them  that  fear  thee, 
That  it  may  be  displayed  because  of  the  truth." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

DESERTERS    AND    DESERTIONS 

Although  war  involves  killing  by  wholesale,  both 
soldiers  and  civilians  shrink  from  the  thought  of 
the  deliberate  killing  of  a  man  for  the  crime  of 
deserting  from  the  army  in  war  time.  Yet  it  is 
obvious  that  unless  soldiers  find  that  they  endanger 
their  lives  by  running  away  from  the  front  in  time 
of  active  service,  many  of  them  will  prefer  to  go  in 
that  direction,  instead  of  moving  forward  where 
death  confronts  them. 

General  Washington  said  truly,  that  while  there 
were  soldiers  who  were  controlled  by  a  desire  for 
glory  or  by  a  high  sense  of  patriotism,  so  that  they 
could  be  depended  on  for  going  into  action  as  a 
matter  of  duty  or  of  honor  regardless  of  selfish 
considerations,  the  great  majority  of  men  were  held 
to  their  place  as  soldiers  by  their  knowledge  that 
the  danger  of  running  from  the  front  was  greater 
than  that  of  moving  forward  in  battle  line.  This 
was  as  true  of  soldiers  of  the  Union  army  in  our 
Civil  War  as  of  the  Continental  troops  in  the  War 
of  the  Revolution. 

Yet  there  was,  for  a  long  time,  the  same  re- 

177 


178         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

luctance  in  the  later  war  as  in  the  earlier  to  shoot 
down  in  cold  blood  a  deserter  from  the  ranks.  It 
was  not  always  easy  to«retake  a  deserter,  therefore 
many  deserted  with  impunity.  Even  when  one 
was  taken,  and  tried  and  sentenced,  his  punishment 
was  commuted,  or  he  was  pardoned,  by  the  Presi 
dent,  on  the  petition  of  civilian  friends.  So  it 
came  to  pass  that  the  war  had  been  fully  a  year 
and  a  half  in  progress  before  the  death  penalty  was 
executed  on  a  deserter,  according  to  the  records  of 
the  War  Department. 

Meanwhile  thousands  had  deserted  from  the 
army  with  small  danger  of  harm  to  themselves  ;  and 
the  danger  to  those  who  remained  at  the  front  was 
steadily  increasing  through  the  diminishing  of  the 
force  for  duty  by  these  desertions.  If  there  had 
been  the  prompt  execution  of  one  deserter  to  a 
division,  in  the  first  few  months  of  the  war,  this 
evil  would  have  been  measurably  checked  with 
comparatively  small  loss  of  life.  But,  as  it  was,  the 
magnitude  of  this  evil  was  not  realized  until  it  was 
evident  that  the  choice  must  now  be  between  shoot 
ing  cowards  who  ran  to  the  rear  or  having  true  men 
shot  down  at  the  front  by  hundreds  or  thousands 
because  of  the  criminal  failure  of  those  who,  as  well 
as  themselves,  were  bound  in  duty  to  defend  their 
government  against  all  enemies. 

Desertion  to  the  enemy  was  naturally  looked 
upon,  both  in  and  out  of  the  army,  as  a  more 
heinous  offense  than  desertion  to  the  rear;  hence 


Deserters  and  Desertions  1 79 

there  would  be  less  reluctance  to  the  execution  of 
a  soldier  found  guilty  of  that  crime  than  to  the 
shooting  of  a  man  who  merely  ran  away  for  his 
own  safety.  My  first  experience  as  an  army  chap 
lain  with  a  deserter  was  with  one  of  the  former  sort, 
and  his  case  was  possessed  of  remarkable  features. 

A  soldier  of  a  Massachusetts  regiment,  which 
was  brigaded  with  my  regiment  for  the  entire  four 
years  of  our  army  service,  escaped  from  confine 
ment,  incurred  by  insubordination,  and  deserted 
through  the  lines  to  the  enemy,  in  North  Carolina, 
in  the  summer  of  1862.  After  serving  in  the  Con 
federate  ranks  for  nearly  two  years,  he  deserted  his 
new  command  in  the  Army  of  Northern  Virginia, 
and  came  through  the  Federal  lines  at  Deep  Bot 
tom,  on  the  banks  of  the  James,  expecting  to  be 
sent  North  and  to  be  free  from  military  service 
thenceforward. 

Strange  to  say,  he  came  through  the  picket  line 
of  his  own  old  regiment,  there  in  another  state 
two  years  after  his  desertion ;  and,  although  he  was 
in  Confederate  uniform,  he  was  recognized  by  a 
member  of  his  former  company,  who  happened  to 
be  at  that  picket  post  at  the  moment  he  came  in. 
Overpowered  by  surprise  at  his  discovery,  he  was 
held,  given  over  for  trial,  convicted,  and  sentenced 
to  be  shot  in  the  presence  of  his  old  command. 

My  first  meeting  with  this  man  was  the  day  be 
fore  he  was  shot,  as  he  sat  on  the  banks  of  the 
James,  handcuffed  and  fettered  and  closely  guarded. 


180         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Conscious  of  being  watched  by  curious  eyes  of  his 
old  comrades  and  others,  he  was  evidently  in  an 
attitude  of  defiance,  striving  to  appear  unconcerned. 
Although  not  repelling  with  rudeness  my  proffers 
of  interest  and  sympathy,  he  plainly  said  that  he 
was  not  going  to  break  down  now  ;  he  had  "  lived 
game"  and  he  would  "die  game."  Even  if  there 
were  a  God  and  a  hereafter,  it  was  "too  late  to 
think  of  that  now."  He  had  "  put  it  off  too  long." 
Then  he  spoke  bitterly  of  those  who  had  been 
over  him  in  his  earlier  campaigning,  and  insisted 
that  he  had  been  sinned  against  rather  than  been  a 
wrong-doer,  in  his  army  life.  I  saw  that,  just  then, 
he  was  in  no  state  of  mind  for  such  service  as  I  could 
render  him  ;  and  I  left  him  with  assurances  of  my 
prayerful  interest  in  him,  and  with  a  promise  to 
come  back  in  the  evening. 

When  I  came  to  him  later,  while  we  were  no 
longer  under  the  eye  of  observers,  I  found  him  less 
defiant  As  I  questioned  him  about  the  past  I 
found  that  he  had  a  mother  living.  I  found  also 
that  he  had  been  on  guard  at  Libby  Prison  a  year 
before,  while  I  was  confined  there.  As  he  softened 
down  in  his  tone  and  manner  I  asked  if  I  might 
pray  with  him.  He  assented.  As  I  prayed  with  and 
for  him  I  prayed  also  for  his  poor  mother.  At  the 
mention  of  her  name,  he  uttered  a  piercing  cry  and 
fell  forward  on  his  face,  his  whole  frame  convulsed 
with  agony  and  with  sobs  that  seemed  as  if  his  very 
heart  were  breaking.  Stretching  myself  alongside 


Deserters  and  Desertions  1 8 1 

him  on  the  grass,  under  the  quiet  stars,  I  put  my 
arm  over  him,  and  waited  in  silent  show  of  sym 
pathy. 

His  hardihood  was  all  gone.  He  was  as  a  child 
again.  He  was  glad  to  have  me  talk  with  him, 
and  to  talk  to  me  of  himself.  He  no  longer  blamed 
those  who  had  aided  in  bringing  him  to  this  state. 
He  blamed  only  himself.  Finding  that  he  was  a 
Roman  Catholic,  and  would  naturally  desire  the 
ministrations  of  a  priest  of  that  church,  I  made 
request  of  our  division  commander  to  telegraph 
to  General  Meade's  headquarters,  before  Peters 
burg,  for  a  priest,  and  soon  I  received  word  that 
one  would  be  with  us  in  the  early  morning. 

The  next  afternoon  I  had  my  first  sight  of  a 
military  execution.  I  wish  it  could  have  been  my 
last.  The  entire  brigade  was  ordered  out  to  wit 
ness  it.  As  the  command  stood  waiting,  in  three 
sides  of  a  hollow  square,  with  an  open  grave  in  the 
center  of  the  fourth  side,  a  deep,  solemn,  oppressive 
stillness  weighed  down  upon  all  hearts. 

This  stillness  was  broken  by  a  low,  soft,  plaintive 
strain  of  music,  which  came  floating  on  the  sultry 
air  across  the  plain,  from  beyond  the  rise  of  ground 
in  the  direction  of  the  camp  we  had  left.  It  was 
the  sound  of  a  funeral  dirge  from  muffled  drums, 
with  the  subdued  notes  of  an  accompanying  band. 
A  funeral  dirge,  for  a  living  man  !  Hearts  quick 
ened,  and  hearts  stood  still,  at  the  sound. 

A  cart  drawn  by  a  pair  of  white  horses  bore  the 


1 82         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

condemned  soldier,  seated  on  his  coffin,  accompa 
nied  by  the  kindly  priest,  while  a  military  escort 
marched  on  each  side  with  arms  reversed,  as  though 
the  man  were  already  dead.  The  firing  party,  the 
guard,  and  the  music,  completed  the  gloomy  pro 
cession.  It  was  nearly  half  a  mile  away,  and  it 
seemed  a  long,  long  while  in  coming. 

Low  and  soft  as  the  breathings  of  an  aeolian  harp, 
mournful  and  oppressive  as  a  midnight  funeral 
knell,  the  approaching  music  rose  and  fell  in  swell 
ing  and  dying  cadences,  while  listening  ears  ached 
in  sympathy  and  waiting  hearts  throbbed  in  re 
sponsive  tenderness.  It  was  hard  to  bear.  Faces 
paled  and  hands  shook  which  were  not  accustomed 
to  show  signs  of  fear ;  and  officers  and  men  alike 
would  have  welcomed  a  call  to  battle  in  exchange 
for  that  terrible  inaction  in  the  sight  of  coming 
death. 

Then  came  the  last  sad  scene.  The  fettered 
deserter  was  helped  from  the  cart,  just  back  of  the 
open  grave.  The  priest  knelt  with  him  in  prayer ; 
then  bade  him  good-by  and  retired  a  little  dis 
tance  to  kneel  and  continue  praying  in  his  behalf. 
The  guard  formed  on  the  right  and  the  left  of  the 
prisoner,  and  the  firing  party  took  position  in  front 
of  him  a  dozen  paces  distant,  as  he  knelt  on  his 
coffin  with  bandaged  eyes  and  pinioned  arms. 

Twelve  men  were  of  the  firing  party.  Eleven 
of  the  rifles  were  loaded  with  bullets,  and  one  with 
a  blank  cartridge.  No  one  knew  which  rifle  lacked 


Deserters  and  Desertions  183 

its  bullet,  so  that  every  soldier  might  think  it  pos 
sible  that  it  was  his.  A  second  firing  party  was 
back  of  the  first.  Two  surgeons  were  close  at 
hand  to  see  that  the  dread  work  was  fully  done. 

The  dirge  had  died  away.  A  stillness  even 
more  painful  than  its  wailing  notes  had  succeeded. 
This  was  broken  by  the  low,  clear-spoken  words  of 
command  :  "  Ready  !  Aim  !  Fire  !  "  There  was 
a  sharp  explosion.  The  condemned  man  fell  for 
ward  from  his  coffin.  The  surgeons  were  quickly 
at  his  side.  Five  bullets  had  pierced  his  chest. 
Yet  the  pulse  still  beat,  and  there  was  a  low  moan 
ing  respiration.  Soldier  hands  were  not  steady  in 
aiming  at  a  comrade's  heart  The  second  firing 
party  came  forward.  The  orders  were  repeated. 
Eight  more  bullets  entered  his  chest  and  head. 
The  deserter  was  dead  ! 

The  entire  brigade  was  marched  in  column  by 
the  open  grave  and  the  dead  deserter.  The  band 
struck  up  a  lively  air,  as  always  in  going  from  a 
soldier's  grave,  and  the  command  returned  to  camp 
again.  None  who  witnessed  that  sight  could  ever 
forget  it.  But  it  came  too  late  in  the  war  for  its 
best  impressions  on  all.  Desertions  had  already 
begun,  and  the  spirit  that  led  to  them  could  not 
at  once  be  checked. 

Already  desertion  to  the  rear  had  been  found  so 
easy,  and  so  free  from  danger,  that  the  number  of 
deserters  was  swelled  to  tens  of  thousands.  And 
now  there  began  to  show  itself  an  outcome  of  this 


184         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

state  of  things,  more  fearful  than  the  original  pre 
cursor  of  disaster. 

The  splendid  patriotism  which  had  been  mani 
fested  in  the  early  enlistments  of  the  war,  and 
which  was  still  supreme  among  soldiers  at  the  front 
and  in  the  homes  from  which  they  came,  was  over 
shadowed  in  that  sphere  of  money-making  and  of 
business-pushing  which  was  a  result  of  the  national 
prosecution  of  the  war,  with  its  inflated  currency 
and  its  steadily  increasing  demands  for  army  and 
navy  equipment  and  supplies.  When  calls  for 
added  volunteers  were  made  by  the  government, 
young  men  who  otherwise  would  have  been  ready 
to  respond  with  personal  service  were  now  so  busy 
with  their  money-making  and  their  efforts  to  pro 
vide  for  the  material  wants  of  the  government  that 
they  felt  they  could  not  go  themselves,  but  they 
would  gladly  pay  to  secure  some  one  to  go  for 
them.  Large  bounties  were  offered  to  substitute 
recruits,  to  count  on  the  quota  required  by  the 
new  call ;  and  the  gift  of  money,  rather  than  of 
service,  came  to  be  looked  at  for  the  hour  as  the 
true  measure  of  patriotism. 

This  condition  of  affairs  resulted  in  the  bringing 
into  being  of  a  class  of  men  known  as  "  substitute 
brokers,"  who  made  it  their  business  to  secure  men, 
"by  hook  or  by  crook,"  to  enlist  as  substitutes,  for 
assignment  to  the  credit  of  such  states  as  offered 
the  largest  bounties  to  men  counting  on  their 
quota.  The  broker,  naturally,  made  the  best  terms 


Deserters  and  Desertions  185 

he  could  with  the  substitutes  whom  he  engaged, 
taking  as  large  a  share  of  the  bounty  as  he  could 
secure  by  fair  means,  and  sometimes  by  foul. 

It  being  known  by  these  brokers  that  desertion 
from  the  army  was  comparatively  easy  and  safe, 
they  saw  that  a  man  could  enlist  as  a  substitute, 
desert  and  enlist  again,  and  so  on  indefinitely, 
counting  each  time  on  the  quota  of  the  state  pay 
ing  the  bounty,  and  shielding  another  able-bodied 
citizen  of  that  state  from  the  dreaded  draft.  This 
possibility  quickened  their  business.  Men  who 
were  engaged  by  them  in  this  branch  of  activity 
were  called  "bounty-jumpers;"  and  they  came  to 
be  recognized  as  among  the  enterprising  and  effi 
cient  "  patriots "  of  the  business  communities  of 
the  North.  The  story  is  told,  on  good  authority, 
of  an  Irish-American  mother  who,  under  the  influ 
ence  of  native  American  methods,  told  a  friend, 
with  peculiar  satisfaction,  of  the  well-doing  of  her 
son  Michael,  who  had  not  been  in  all  respects  a 
hopeful  son  before. 

"  It's  a  place  under  the  government  he's  been 
afther  gittin',"  she  said.  "  And  it  gives  him  vary 
good  pay." 

"What  sort  of  a  place  is  it?  "  asked  her  friend. 

"Well,  I'm  not  quite  shure  as  to  that  But  I 
belave  they  call  it  'lapeing  the  bounty.'  " 

The  dimensions  of  this  evil  system  grew  at  a 
fearful  rate.  It  tended  to  the  demoralization  of 
the  business  community,  and  to  the  discouragement 


1 86         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

of  the  army.  I  speak  of  what  came  under  my 
own  observation,  when  I  say  that  substitutes  en 
listed  and  deserted  three,  five,  and  seven  times 
over ;  that  in  single  regiments  one-fourth,  and 
again  one-half,  and  yet  again  a  larger  proportion, 
of  all  the  men  assigned  under  a  new  call  of  the 
President  for  five  hundred  thousand  more  volun 
teers,  deserted  within  a  few  weeks  of  their  being 
started  to  the  front.  In  some  other  instances,  not 
one-half  of  the  men  who  were  thus  started  even 
reached  the  regiments,  a  majority  having  deserted 
on  the  way. 

The  Confederate  authorities,  perceiving  the  mag 
nitude  of  this  movement,  issued  a  proclamation  to 
the  effect  that  men  deserting  from  the  Federal 
lines  into  the  Confederate  should  be  permitted  to 
go  North  without  detention.  One  of  the  Rich 
mond  papers,  in  the  early  months  of  1865,  reported 
one  hundred  and  eighty  deserters  from  the  Federal 
lines  as  reaching  that  city  within  a  single  week. 
Another  Richmond  paper  satirically  showed  its  ap 
preciation  of  the  condition  of  things  at  the  North 
by  commending  the  reported  enterprise  of  a 
"patriot"  in  a  Northern  city,  who,  on  learning 
that  his  ward  was  short  seventeen  on  its  quota 
under  a  call  of  the  President,  promptly  enlisted 
and  deserted  seventeen  times,  and  so  "saved  his 
ward." 

From  the  private  in  the  ranks  to  the  President  of 
the  United  States,  the  feeling  came  to  be  general 


Deserters  and  Desertions  187 

that  the  question  of  desertions,  and  how  to  stop 
them,  was  of  foremost  practical  importance  to  army 
and  to  government  alike.  Then  there  was  an 
endeavor  to  do  at  this  late  hour  what  might  have 
been  done  hopefully  at  the  first.  As  a  check  to 
the  proffer  of  the  Confederate  authorities,  one 
corps  commander  issued  an  order,  promising  a 
furlough  of  thirty  days  to  any  soldier  who  would 
shoot  a  comrade  attempting  to  desert  from  the 
picket  line.  At  least  one  substitute  soldier  availed 
himself  of  this  offer,  shooting  a  companion  who 
had  started  to  desert  to  the  enemy,  and  then  him 
self  deserting  while  on  honorary  furlough. 

It  had  become  a  question  of  checking  desertion, 
or  of  having  no  army  available  for  the  prosecution 
of  the  war.  The  work  of  executing  deserters  had 
at  last  been  entered  upon  in  desperate  earnest. 
Men  were  shot  by  twos  and  threes,  in  order  to 
make  quick  work  of  it.  At  one  time  I  saw  five 
from  the  same  regiment  shot  side  by  side  with  a 
single  volley.  No  coffins  were  ready  for  them. 
They  were  wrapped  in  their  blankets,  and  buried 
where  they  fell.  When  men  attempted  to  shoot 
those  who  would  prevent  their  deserting,  they  were 
hanged  instead  of  being  shot.  It  came  to  be  a 
frightfully  common  experience  with  me  to  go  out 
with  a  man  to  the  field  where  he  was  to  be  shot 
or  hanged ;  and  the  scenes  of  grief  and  despair 
which  I  was  called  to  witness,  when  such  men 
were  first  told  that  they  must  die  within  a  few 


1 88         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

hours,  are  among  the  most  vivid  and  soul-harrowing 
of  my  army  life. 

As  I  sat  writing  in  my  cabin,  before  Richmond, 
on  Christmas  night,  1864,  during  a  severe  storm,  I 
was  started  up  about  midnight  by  a  mounted 
orderly  with  a  note  from  General  Terry.  The 
General  said  he  was  sorry  to  call  me  out  on  such  a 
night,  but  he  had  just  received  orders  to  shoot  a 
deserter  the  next  morning,  and  he  could  not  bear 
to  have  the  poor  fellow  hurried  out  of  the  world 
without  a  word  of  counsel  or  prayer ;  and  therefore 
he  had  sent  for  me  to  come  and  see  him,  knowing 
I  would  be  glad  to  do  what  I  could  in  such  a  case. 

Out  in  the  darkness  and  storm  I  went  from  my 
cabin,  to  plow  through  the  mud,  and  to  stumble 
over  fallen  trees,  and  to  grope  my  way  among  the 
gaunt  pines  to  division  headquarters.  The  signs 
of  Christmas,  still  evident,  were  in  sad  contrast  to 
the  thoughts  which  oppressed  me,  as  I  turned  from 
the  brightly  lighted  quarters  of  the  General,  while 
a  band  was  serenading  him,  and  found  my  way  to 
a  gloomy  log -hut,  not  yet  roofed  in,  where  the 
condemned  deserter  was  awaiting  the  hour  of  his 
death. 

The  poor  fellow  seemed  now  dazed,  now  crazed. 
By  turns  he  was  sure  it  was  a  mistake,  and  that  he 
could  not  be  under  sentence  of  death,  and  that,  if 
he  was,  he  would  be  pardoned  or  reprieved,  and 
that  if  he  must  die  he  would  "  die  like  a  man." 
Then  he  would  cry  out  in  bitterness  of  soul  against 


Deserters  and  Desertions  1 89 

his  lot,  declaring  that  his  spirit  would  haunt  and 
persecute,  as  long  as  they  lived,  all  who  had  had  a 
part  in  his  condemnation.  Gradually  I  brought 
him  to  a  calmer  view  of  his  situation,  and  induced 
him  to  tell  me  how  he  came  into  this  state. 

He  had  originally  volunteered  in  a  New  England 
regiment,  and  he  had  shown  himself  a  brave,  true 
soldier  until  he  was  discharged  for  ill-health.  Re 
gaining  his  strength  after  a  time,  he  had  volun 
teered  in  another  regiment ;  but,  being  debauched 
by  the  prevalent  sentiment  in  favor  of  "  bounty- 
jumping  "  and  deserting,  he  deserted  his  new  com 
mand  in  order  to  join  the  army  as  a  substitute 
under  an  assumed  name.  Being  unexpectedly 
assigned  to  a  regiment  near  the  one  from  which  he 
had  deserted,  he  was  recognized  while  on  duty  at 
the  front,  and  arrested  as  a  deserter,  and  was  now 
to  die  for  his  crime  under  his  assumed  " substitute" 
name. 

His  chief  concern  was  for  the  members  of  his 
family,  who  would  suffer  hopelessly  in  his  loss.  He 
had  come  from  a  patriotic  home.  He  was  of  a 
worthy  ancestry.  He*  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  a  young  lady  of  position  and  character.  He 
was  indeed,  personally,  loyal  and  patriotic  at  heart. 
He  had  been  exceptionally  courageous  and  faithful 
while  in  service,  and  he  had  at  no  time  intended 
to  be  permanently  away  from  the  front,  from  an 
unreadiness  to  bear  a  soldier's  dangers  in  active 
service.  He  was  simply  a  victim  of  a  state  of 


190         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

things  that  was,  at  this  time,  threatening  the  nation's 
life.  He  was  one  of  many  who  had  come  to  think 
that  deserting,  in  order  to  win  an  extra  bounty, 
was  not  to  be  looked  at  by  a  soldier  as  any  worse 
than  civilians  deemed  it. 

By  and  by  the  condemned  man  knelt  at  my  side, 
in  that  dismal  cabin,  while  the  cold  rain  drizzled 
down  upon  us  through  the  open  roof,  and  he  prayed 
sweetly,  simply,  earnestly ;  convincing  me  that  a 
soldier's  true  and  trusting  heart  was  below  the 
rougher  surface  which  had  shown  itself  before. 
There  was  no  longer  any  bitterness  in  his  heart 
toward  any.  There  was  sincere  confession  and 
repentance,  and  loving  trust.  He  prayed  tenderly 
for  himself  and  for  his  dear  ones,  for  me,  a  stranger 
until  now,  and  for  my  dear  ones,  for  the  officers  he 
had  threatened  to  haunt,  and  for  his  fellow-soldiers 
one  and  all. 

It  was  a  gloomy  ride  by  his  side  in  a  cart,  out 
of  the  sally-port  toward  the  place  of  execution.  It 
was  a  dreary  tramp,  on  through  the  mud  beyond 
the  roadway  to  the  newly  dug  grave,  in  the  sight 
of  the  entire  division  drawn  up  on  three  sides  of  a 
square.  His  voice  was  firm  and  tender  as  he  spoke 
earnest  words  of  prayer,  kneeling  by  my  side  before 
that  grave,  and  as  he  bade  me  an  affectionate 
good-by.  And  then  his  young  life  went  out  there. 
Oh,  if  that  could  have  been  the  last  of  the  evils  of 
this  system  of  bounty-jumping  and  deserting  !  But 
the  end  was  not  yet 


Deserters  and  Desertions  191 

The  provost-marshal's  prison  of  our  division, 
before  Richmond,  in  the  last  winter  of  the  war,  was 
within  a  close  stockade  of  pine  logs  twenty  feet 
high,  guarded  on  all  sides.  Men  were  brought 
there  after  their  trial  by  court-martial,  in  ignorance 
of  the  verdict  rendered  in  their  case  or  of  their 
probable  fate.  At  one  time  more  than  sixty  de 
serters  were  there.  Just  outside  of  the  entrance  to 
that  stockade  was  a  small  log-cabin,  used  as  the 
condemned  cell.  If  a  man  had  been  sentenced  to 
death  he  knew  nothing  of  it  until  the  order  came 
for  his  execution,  and  he  was  removed  to  this 
cabin  to  pass  a  few  hours  there. 

There  were  anxious  times  in  that  stockade.  So 
long  as  men  remained  there  they  might  have  hope. 
At  one  time,  seven  men  who  had  deserted  together, 
and  against  whom  the  evidence  was  clear,  were 
suddenly  ordered  back  to  their  regiment,  when 
they  had  been  looking  forward  to  their  execution. 
The  commanding  general  had  noted  a  vital  error  in 
the  proceedings  of  the  court-martial,  and  had  dis 
approved  its  findings.  Then  a  man  who  had  been 
retaken  outside  of  our  lines  had  his  death  sentence 
commuted  to  a  year's  imprisonment.  These  in 
stances  gave  hope  to  many  who  had  before  been  in 
despair. 

But  again  the  current  of  feeling  was  changed. 
A  soldier  arrested  one  day  was  tried  the  next,  and 
shot  the  third.  Two  men  who  had  been  tried  four 
weeks  before,  and  had  taken  courage  from  the  delay, 


1 92         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

were  brought  into  the  outer  cabin,  and  thence  to 
the  gallows,  being  denied  a  soldier's  death  by 
shooting  because  they  had  added  to  the  crime 
of  desertion  by  attempting  to  shoot  their  cap 
tors.  A  soldier  who  had  been  tried  some  time 
before,  and  was  now  cutting  wood  under  guard 
outside  the  stockade,  in  a  feeling  of  comparative 
safety,  was  suddenly  called  back  to  enter  the  con 
demned  cabin.  Then  those  inside  the  stockade,  or 
the  "  bull-pen,"  as  it  was  generally  called,  trem 
bled. 

The  small  outer  cabin  could  be  seen  through  the 
entrance  way  of  the  stockade.  I,  being  the  senior 
chaplain  in  the  division,  was  likely  to  be  summoned 
to  minister  to  a  man  who  was  taken  thither,  and 
my  face  became  familiar  to  the  prisoners  in  the 
larger  enclosure.  One  day  I  entered  the  stockade 
for  the  purpose  of  speaking  to  a  prisoner.  In 
stantly  I  was  recognized  as  one  who,  in  a  sense, 
represented  those  having  authority,  while  I  had 
personally  a  kindly  interest  in  those  who  were 
under  condemnation,  and  there  was  a  rush  to  secure 
my  sympathy  and  favor.  Men  crowded  around 
me  by  the  score.  They  caught  my  hands.  They 
clasped  my  feet.  They  clung  to  my  garments. 
They  pleaded  for  pity,  for  mercy,  for  help. 

"  O  Chaplain,  hear  my  story  ! " 

"O  Chaplain,  help  me!" 

"  I  don't  care  for  myself,  Chaplain ;  but  it  will 
kill  my  mother  if  I'm  shot." 


Deserters  and  Desertions  193 

"  Won't  you  go  to  the  General  for  me,  Chaplain  ? 
He'll  pardon  me  if  you  ask  it.  I  know  he  will." 

"Help!" 

"Help!" 

"  Help  ! "  the  cries  came  up  on  every  side,  pite- 
eous,  heart-piercing,  despairing. 

Yet  I  was  utterly  helpless  for  the  rescue  of  any 
one  of  the  poor  prisoners  there.  I  felt  for  the  mo 
ment,  however,  as  never  besides  in  my  varied  life 
time,  what  it  was  to  be  looked  to  in  vain  as  a 
possible  mediator  and  intercessor  by  those  who 
were  appointed  to  die. 

It  was  inevitable  that,  in  the  rush  of  effort  to 
stay  the  scourge  of  desertion,  in  that  midnight  hour 
of  the  nation's  life  struggle,  there  should  be  cases 
where  innocent  men  suffered  with  and  for  the 
guilty.  Men  were  executed  as  deserters  who  had 
never  enlisted,  and  others  who  were  technically 
guilty  were  denied  the  clemency  that  the  circum 
stances  of  their  case  would  have  secured  to  them 
in  ordinary  times,  because  it  was  felt  that  the  cer 
tainty  of  punishment  for  desertion  must  no  longer 
be  in  question. 

As  an  example,  in  the  range  of  my  observation, 
there  was  a  green  Irish  lad  of  nineteen,  who  came 
to  America  in  search  of  his  sister,  and  was  met  on 
the  dock  in  New  York  by  the  runner  of  a  substi 
tute-broker,  who  promised  him  work  with  good 
wages  if  he  would  follow  him.  He  was  taken  to 
Connecticut,  was  stupified  with  liquor,  and,  without 


194         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

understanding  what  he  was  doing,  was  enlisted  as  a 
substitute.  A  portion  of  the  bounty  money  col 
lected  in  his  case  was  given  to  him  by  the  broker, 
but  was  quickly  taken  from  him  by  members  of  the 
squad  of  bounty-jumpers  with  whom  he  was  placed. 
Penniless,  homesick,  bewildered,  he  was  hurried  to 
Virginia  with  a  party  of  substitute  recruits.  Bent 
on  finding  his  sister,  he  started  for  the  rear  before 
he  had  learned  anything  of  army  service.  He  was 
arrested,  and,  the  second  day  after,  he  was  shot  as 
a  deserter. 

But  the  case  of  the  last  deserter  to  whom  I 
ministered  was  most  pitiful  of  all.  A  boy  less  than 
sixteen  years  old,  born  and  reared  in  the  upper 
portion  of  New  York  City,  was  enticed  away  to  be 
sold  as  a  substitute.  He  was  somewhat  under- 
witted,  but  simple-hearted  and  childlike  in  a  pe 
culiar  degree.  He  said,  and  probably  with  truth, 
that  he  had  never  passed  a  night  away  from  home 
until  the  substitute-broker  led  him  off  When  he 
found  himself  with  a  squad  of  recruits  in  a  camp 
in  Virginia,  he  wanted  to  go  home  ;  and  poor,  tired 
boy  that  he  was,  he  started  in  broad  daylight  to  go 
down  the  road  toward  the  landing  from  which  he 
had  come.  He  was  stopped,  and  brought  back  to 
camp.  Again  he  started  to  run,  making  no  con 
cealment  of  his  purpose.  He  was  re-arrested,  tried 
as  a  deserter,  and  sentenced  to  be  shot. 

When  I  learned  his  story  I  was  sure  that  he 
ought  not  to  be  executed.  I  went  to  my  brigade 


Deserters  and  Desertions  195 

commander  and  stated  the  facts.  He  told  me  that 
he  had  no  power  in  the  premises.  An  order  from 
the  department  commander  for  the  immediate  exe 
cution  of  that  man  had  been  received  by  him,  and 
there  was  no  possibility  of  even  reaching  the  de 
partment  commander  with  a  request  for  clemency 
in  time  to  have  it  available.  The  sentence  must  be 
executed.  With  a  heavy  heart  I  went  back  to  im 
prove  my  few  remaining  hours  with  the  condemned 
boy. 

At  first  he  gave  way  to  an  outburst  of  childish 
grief  on  being  told  that  he  was  to  be  shot.  "  I 
don't  want  to  be  killed,"  he  said.  "Won't  the 
General  parole  me?"  Having  cried  his  first  cry 
out,  he  quieted  down  and  listened  to  my  words  of 
sympathy.  His  thoughts  were  unselfishly  of  his 
home.  If  he  must  die,  he  did  not  want  his  family 
to  know  it.  "They'd  feel  so  bad  about  it,"  he 
said.  "  I  suppose  it  would  kill  'em  all.  They'd 
be  thinking  of  it  nights.  Don't  tell  'em  of  it.  I 
suppose  it  would  kill  my  father."  For  some  rea 
son  his  father  seemed  nearer  to  his  heart  than  his 
mother,  and  he  spoke  very  tenderly  of  him. 

The  lad  was  as  childlike  in  his  trust  as  in  his 
grief.  Kneeling  by  me  on  the  swampy  ground, 
under  the  cold  drippings  of  the  cabin  roof,  in  a 
rain-storm,  he  clasped  his  fettered  hands  and  said 
his  little  prayer,  which  he  had  been  taught  at 
home,  and  committed  himself  lovingly  to  his  lov 
ing  Father  in  heaven.  His  parents  were  accus- 


196         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

tomed  to  pray  with  him  ;  and  apparently  he  had 
led  a  quiet  home  life,  without  knowing  anything 
of  outside  temptations.  When  I  asked  him  how 
he  used  to  spend  his  evenings  he  said :  "  I  always 
worked  in  the  factory  day-times.  When  it  came 
night,  I  was  tired,  and  went  to  bed  early." 

After  that  first  burst  of  grief  over  his  lot,  he 
seemed  not  to  be  troubled  in  the  thought  of  death. 
He  simply  accepted  it  as  the  next  thing  before 
him.  Just  before  he  started  for  the  field,  he  turned 
to  me,  and  said  inquiringly,  "  I  die  to-day,  shall  I 
go  right  to  heaven  to-day?"  When  he  came  to 
the  place  of  execution  he  was  in  no  degree  dis 
turbed  by  the  terrible  preparations.  He  walked 
up  to  the  open  grave,  and  looked  into  it  with 
childish  curiosity.  He  knelt  again  to  pray  as 
calmly  as  though  he  were  by  his  own  bedside. 

He  looked  at  the  firing  party  with  interest,  as 
though  he  saw  only  kind-hearted  comrades.  Just 
as  his  arms  were  being  pinioned,  a  little  bird  flew 
over  him.  He  turned  his  head  and  followed  the 
bird  with  his  eyes,  as  though  he  would  like  to 
chase  it.  Then  he  looked  again  at  the  muskets  of 
the  firing  party,  with  soft,  steady  eyes  as  before. 

"Let  me  kneel  on  the  ground  and  rest  on  the 
coffin,"  he  said,  as  they  fixed  him  in  position. 

"  No,  kneel  on  the  coffin,"  was  the  order. 

So,  kneeling  there,  he  settled  himself  down  into 
a  crouching  position,  as  though  he  must  wait  a 
weary  while. 


Deserters  and  Desertions  197 

Hardly  had  he  taken  this  position,  when  he  fell 
forward  dead,  with  every  bullet  of  the  firing  party 
directly  through  his  body — three  through  his  heart. 
He  uttered  no  sound,  nor  did  his  frame  quiver. 

I  wrote  of  this  incident,  at  the  time,  to  a  news 
paper  in  New  England.  Letters  poured  in  upon 
me  from  sad-hearted  mothers  and  fathers  in  lonely 
homes  on  every  side,  where  a  boy  was  missing  who 
might  have  been  this  one.  And  this  gave  me  a 
fresh  glimpse  of  the  peculiar  sorrow  brought  to 
stricken  homes  by  these  executions.  I  learned 
that  there  was  no  such  grief  over  the  dead  of  the 
war  in  any  other  sphere  as  in  this.  It  was  not 
the  soldier  who  had  been  killed  on  the  battle  line, 
or  who  had  worn  out  his  young  life  in  prison-pen 
or  in  hospital,  but  it  was  the  soldier  who  had  died 
as  a  deserter,  who  was  mourned  hopelessly,  cease 
lessly,  and  with  greatest  bitterness  of  heart,  in  the 
loyal  homes  of  the  North. 

But  this  rapid  increase  of  executions  for  deser 
tion  did  not  seem  to  lessen  the  number  of  de 
serters.  On  the  contrary,  it  was  found  that  every 
execution  was  immediately  followed  by  desertions 
in  the  regiment  to  which  the  condemned  men  had 
belonged.  This  seemed  strange.  The  reason  for  it 
was  by  no  means  obvious.  One  day,  while  talking 
the  matter  over  with  my  regimental  commander, 
General — then  Lieutenant-Colonel — E.  D.  S.  Good 
year,  it  suggested  itself  to  me  that  the  new  de 
serters  in  such  a  case  were  men  who  were  already 


198         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

guilty  of  the  crime  for  which  the  others  were  exe 
cuted,  and  that  the  sight  of  its  punishment  tempted 
them  to  take  flight  before  they  were  discovered  and 
brought  to  a  similar  end.  Then  the  question  arose, 
what  would  be  best  in  case  this  surmise  were 
correct.  It  seemed  evident  that  the  only  cure  for 
such  a  difficulty  would  be  the  proffer  of  immunity 
to  those  who  would  confess  their  guilt,  and  make 
the  best  possible  amends  in  the  case. 

Thereupon  my  commander  said  he  would  ride 
over  to  department  headquarters,  and  have  a  talk 
with  General  Ord  on  the  subject  The  result  was 
the  issuing  of  a  proclamation,  by  President  Lin 
coln,  under  date  of  March  n,  1865,  to  the  effect 
that  any  deserter  now  in  service,  who  would  con 
fess  his  crime  and  promise  to  serve  out  faithfully 
the  time  for  which  he  originally  enlisted,  in  addi 
tion  to  that  for  which  he  was  newly  bound,  should 
be  exempt  from  the  consequences  of  his  deser 
tion,  and  have,  at  the  close  of  his  term,  an  hon 
orable  discharge.  This  proclamation  was  duly  pro 
mulgated,  and  on  the  strength  of  it  the  men  of  my 
regiment,  including  a  large  number  of  substitutes, 
were  invited  to  avail  themselves  of  its  provisions, 
by  reporting  to  regimental  headquarters,  if  they 
came  within  its  scope. 

Hardly  was  the  order  made  public,  before  men 
began  to  show  themselves  in  response  to  it.  First 
one  came,  then  two,  then  five.  While  these  were 
telling  their  stories  and  entering  their  names  a  score 


Deserters  and  Desertions  199 

of  others  were  waiting  outside  for  their  turn.  Then 
another  score,  and  another,  came.  Eighty-four 
men  in  our  regiment,  or  one-seventh  of  those 
present  for  duty,  confessed  to  being  deserters. 
This  was  a  startling  disclosure.  If  so  many  de 
serters  were  found  in  the  ranks  of  a  single  regiment, 
reinforced  so  largely  of  late  by  substitutes,  what 
must  the  number  be  in  the  entire  army  ! 

Many  of  these  confessed  deserters  were  like  the 
New  England  lad  whom  I  had  ministered  to,  on 
General  Terry's  urgent  call  that  Christmas  night. 
They  had  yielded  to  the  temptation  to  desert  from 
one  regiment  and  enlist  in  another,  in  order  to 
"jump  a  bounty."  One  of  them  said  to  me, 

4<  My  old  regiment  is  just  down  the  road,  yonder, 
and  I've  been  so  afraid  some  one  from  it  would  see 
me  here.  When  I've  been  out  to  one  of  those 
'  shootings '  [of  a  deserter],  I've  been  so  afraid  my 
time  would  come  next  that  I  could  hardly  keep 
from  taking  to  my  heels  right  away." 

Others  had  been  seduced  and  swindled  by 
bounty-brokers,  they  hardly  knew  how.  One  of 
these  men  was  a  volunteer  officer  in  the  navy.  He 
had  shown  special  skill  and  courage  earlier  in  the 
war.  Having  been  North  on  leave,  he  was  return 
ing  to  Washington.  He  remembered  being  in  the 
Jersey  City  railroad  station,  waiting  for  the  mid 
night  train  southward.  The  next  thing  he  knew 
he  was  in  a  bunk  in  the  recruiting-camp  in  New 
Haven,  and  he  found  that  he  was  enrolled  as  a 


2oo         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

substitute  recruit  in  the  army,  without  even  any 
bounty  to  show  for  it.  He  supposed  he  had  taken 
something  to  drink  on  the  invitation  of  another, 
and  so  been  drugged  and  enticed  away. 

He  was  evidently  a  man  of  character,  and  his 
appearance  gave  credence  to  his  story.  He  was 
bitterly  ashamed  of  his  sad  plight.  I  wrote  to  the 
Secretary  of  the  Navy,  Mr.  Welles,  concerning  him, 
and  I  found  all  his  statements  verified  as  to  his 
position  and  character.  But  it  would  obviously 
not  do  to  reinstate  him  in  his  old  command,  even 
by  his  own  showing  of  the  case.  The  best  he  could 
do  was  to  continue  as  a  soldier,  and  this  he  was 
ready  to  do.  There  was  an  endless  variety  of  such 
stories. 

This  was  the  condition  of  affairs  when  the  for 
ward  movement  was  ordered  by  General  Grant, 
late  in  March,  1865,  which  resulted  in  the  capture 
of  Petersburg  and  Richmond,  and  the  surrender  of 
General  Lee  at  Appomattox  Court  House.  The 
bearing  of  the  regiment,  which  I  have' just  described 
as  comprising  so  large  a  number  of  probationed 
deserters,  on  the  forced  marches  and  in  the  des 
perate  assaults  of  that  closing  campaign  of  the  war, 
showed  that  these  very  men  had  high  possibilities 
of  soldierhood,  under  the  inspiration  and  incite 
ments  of  brave  comrades  and  skilled  commanders. 

Fort  Gregg  was  one  of  a  series  of  detached 
works,  on  the  intermediate  line  of  the  Confederate 
fortifications  about  Petersburg.  Because  of  its 


Deserters  and  Desertions  201 

being  vital  to  General  Lee's  position,  it  was  occu 
pied  by  several  hundred  men  who  had  volunteered 
to  defend  it  to  the  last  without  surrender.  Its 
assault  has  been  described  in  a  previous  chapter. 
A  deep  ditch,  filled  breast-high  with  water,  sur 
rounded  it.  An  extended  plain,  protected  by  an 
enfilading  fire,  was  before  it.  The  brigade  of 
which  that  Tenth  Connecticut  Regiment  was  a  por 
tion,  was  ordered  to  carry  that  fort  by  assault 
Veterans  of  a  score  and  a  half  of  battles  were  side 
by  side  with  those  substitutes  who  had  so  recently 
confessed  themselves  as  deserters.  Side  by  side 
they  charged  across  that  plain  under  a  deadly  fire, 
and  into  the  ditch,  making  a  living  bridge  of  one 
another  by  which  they  could  reach  from  it  the 
parapet  beyond. 

The  flag  of  the  Connecticut  regiment  was  first 
on  that  parapet.  Then  came  a  hand-to-hand  con 
flict  of  fearful  intensity.  It  was  forty  minutes 
before  the  fort  surrendered.  There  was  rare 
courage  and  desperate  fighting  on  both  sides  before 
the  end  came.  Bayonets  and  clubbed  muskets  did 
their  part  in  the  final  struggle.  Substitutes  and 
veterans  lay  side  by  side  or  piled  on  one  another, 
dead  or  wounded,  when  victory  was  at  last  won  by 
the  assaulting  column. 

General  Gibbon,  the  corps  commander,  who  wit 
nessed  this  assault,  was  enthusiastic  in  its  praise. 
He  said  he  had  read  and  heard  of  such  prolonged 
hand-to-hand  contests,  but  he  had  never  credited 


2O2         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

them  until  now.  The  assault  was  also  under  the 
eye  of  General  Ord,  the  department  commander, 
and  of  General  Grant.  It  received  special  men 
tion  in  the  despatches  of  General  Grant,  as  also 
in  the  despatch  of  President  Lincoln,  who  was 
near  that  field  at  the  time.  It  was  the  only 
special  assault  thus  distinguished  in  the  despatches 
in  that  campaign.  Later  the  several  regiments  of 
that  brigade  received  bronze  eagles  for  their  regi 
mental  colors  from  their  corps  commander  for 
gallantry  on  that  occasion  ;  and  the  color-bearers 
were  honored  with  medals,  fastened  to  their  breasts 
with  kindly  words  by  Mrs.  Ord,  in  the  presence  of 
the  entire  command.  This  was  a  good  offset  to 
the  stigma  that  had  been  temporarily  attached  to 
those  battalions  because  of  the  deserting  substi 
tutes  sent  to  them  from  the  North  to  refill  their 
wasted  ranks. 

The  end  of  the  war  put  an  end  to  desertions  in 
that  war.  But  the  whole  story  of  those  desertions 
goes  to  show  that  the  time  to  check  a  tendency  in 
this  direction  is  at  the  opening  of  a  war,  rather  than 
at  its  close.  And  it  shows,  also,  that  the  difference 
between  a  soldier  who  remains  at  the  front  and  a 
soldier  who  deserts  to  the  rear  is  not  so  much  in 
the  men  themselves  as  in  the  influences  about 
them,  and  in  the  system  under  which  they  are  kept 
true  or  are  demoralized. 


CHAPTER   IX 

SOLDIER   GRAVES   AND   SOLDIER    BURIALS 

In  time  of  peace,  or  at  the  rear  or  in  a  per 
manent  camp  in  time  of  war,  a  military  funeral  is 
an  imposing  and  impressive  ceremony.  Soldiers 
marching  with  slow  and  measured  tread,  with  arms 
reversed  and  standards  furled,  to  the  sound  of 
muffled  drums  and  the  plaintive  notes  of  a  solemn 
dirge,  accompanying  a  catafalque  or  a  pall-covered 
coffin  to  the  grave  of  a  hero  commander  or  com 
rade,  and  there  laying  him  to  rest  in  an  honored 
grave,  while  firing  a  parting  volley  over  his  resting- 
place,  seem  engaged  in  a  fitting  service,  and  those 
who  observe  it  recognize  its  propriety.  The  popu 
lar  idea  of  a  soldier  burial  is  based  on  such  a  scene 
in  sight  or  story.  These  are  the  scenes  which  have 
made  their  impress  on  the  public  mind,  on  the 
occasion  of  the  burial  of  great  commanders. 

We  read,  it  is  true,  of  an  occasional  hurried  sol 
dier  burial,  when  there  is  no  time  for  ceremony  or 
display,  and  no  opportunity  for  marking  the  place 
of  the  hero  grave.  Yet  it  is  hard  to  realize  that  of 
the  great  majority  of  soldiers  who  fell  in  battle  in 
our  Civil  War,  as  in  all  great  wars  from  the  begin- 

203 


204         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

ning  until  now,  it  might  be  said  at  the  best,  as  of 
Sir  John  Moore  at  Corunna : 

"  Not  a  drum  was  heard,  nor  a  funeral  note, 
As  his  corse  to  the  rampart  we  hurried  ; 
Not  a  soldier  discharged  his  farewell  shot 
O'  er  the  grave  where  our  hero  we  buried. 

"Slowly  and  sadly  we  laid  him  down, 

From  the  field  of  his  fame  fresh  and  gory  ; 
We  carved  not  a  line,  we  raised  not  a  stone — 
But  we  left  him  alone  in  his  glory. ' ' 

The  mind  is  reluctant  to  admit  this  as  the  truth, 
and  whenever  it  is  possible  to  show  honor  to  the 
remains  of  a  soldier  his  comrades  will  in  some  way 
gladly  do  it ;  and  those  for  whom  he  died  have  a 
sad  pleasure  in  joining  in  such  a  tribute  of  respect. 
Soldiers  are  always  desirous  of  at  least  securing  a 
Christian  burial  to  a  comrade,  if  that  be  possible, 
and  friends  at  home  want  to  think  that  this  possi 
bility  exists  in  every  case. 

One  of  the  earliest  deaths  in  our  Civil  War  to 
attract  national  attention  was  that  of  young  Colonel 
Ellsworth,  of  the  New  York  Fire  Zouaves,  who  was 
shot  down  under  peculiarly  distressing  circum 
stances  at  Alexandria,  Virginia,  in  May,  1861.  It 
was  in  itself  a  great  shock  to  the  loyal  people  of  our 
land.  Many  felt  at  that  time  as  though  the  opening 
war  could  never  bring  any  good  sufficient  to  com 
pensate  for  that  loss.  Even  President  Lincoln 
cried  out,  "  My  boy !  my  boy !  was  it  necessary  this 


i 

Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  205 


sacrifice  should  be  made  ?  "  The  young  hero's 
body  lay  in  state  for  a  while  at  the  White  House, 
as  he  had  been  a  personal  friend  of  the  President. 
It  was  thence  borne  to  its  last  resting-place  through 
the  ranks  of  mourning  thousands.  To  the  commu 
nity  this  seemed  no  more  than  fitting  respect  for 
such  a  soldier's  services  and  worth,  and  the  sugges 
tion  made  at  the  time,  by  a  portion  of  the  metro 
politan  press,  that  this  could  hardly  be  deemed  a 
precedent  for  soldier  funerals  generally,  in  the  great 
conflict  then  opened,  was  deemed  unfeeling,  in  view 
of  existing  public  opinion. 

The  sentiment  shown  in  that  soldier  funeral 
manifested  itself  in  other  instances,  and  in  other 
localities,  so  long  as  its  exhibit  was  possible  in  the 
community  at  home  or  in  the  army  in  the  field. 
Only  when  dire  necessity  compelled  a  very  different 
course  did  such  sentiment  seem  not  to  prevail. 
Indeed,  the  impressive  display  in  connection  with 
military  funerals,  in  our  cities  and  villages,  when 
dead  soldiers  were  brought  home  from  the  field  of 
battle,  was  an  important  factor  in  newly  arousing 
and  deepening  the  patriotic  enthusiasm  which  kept 
our  armies  supplied  with  recruits. 

I  felt  the  influence  of  such  a  display,  when,  on 
Washington's  Birthday,  1862,  before  I  joined  the 
army,  I  was  a  witness  in  New  Haven  of  the  funeral 
ceremonies  of  Colonel  Charles  L.  Russell,  of  the 
Tenth  Connecticut  Regiment,  who  was  killed  at 
the  battle  of  Roanoke  Island.  The  whole  city  was 


206         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

moved  by  the  passage  through  the  principal  streets 
of  the  funeral  procession,  carrying  his  body  to  its 
burial.  Admiral  Foote,  then  at  his  home,  disabled 
by  a  wound  received  at  Fort  Donelson,  stood  on 
crutches  at  the  door  of  his  house  on  Chapel  Street 
to  join  in  the  common  tribute  of  honor  to  the  dead 
hero,  participated  in  by  all  the  citizens,  from  the 
President  of  Yale  College  to  the  humblest  day 
laborer  in  the  streets.  I  felt  then  that  I  could 
not  any  longer  stay  at  home,  and  it  was  not  many 
months  before  I  was  in  the  very  regiment  which 
Colonel  Russell  had  commanded. 

The  first  soldier  I  was  called  to  bury,  after  join 
ing  my  regiment  in  New  Berne,  North  Carolina, 
was  an  enlisted  man  who  had  died  of  congestive 
chills.  I  then  saw  that  the  occasion  did  not  com 
mand  the  attention  of  all  the  regiment,  although 
certain  forms  were  strictly  observed  within  the 
limits  of  his  own  company.  A  number  of  men 
were  detailed  as  a  guard.  A  few  special  comrades 
followed  as  mourners.  The  coffin  containing  the 
body  was  brought  out  from  the  camp  hospital,  and 
lifted  into  an  ambulance.  The  guard  presented 
arms  as  the  body  of  their  dead  comrade  was  borne 
past  them.  Slowly  the  little  procession  passed  on 
its  way  to  a  spot  selected  as  the  regimental  burying- 
place,  just  outside  of  the  camp  lines.  The  guard 
marched,  with  arms  reversed,  to  the  music  of  muf 
fled  drums.  As  the  coffin  was  lowered  into  the 
grave  I  read  selections  from  Scripture,  prayed,  and 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Biirials  207 

spoke    earnest  words    over   the    first   man  of   my 
charge  I  had  been  called  to  part  with  in  army  life. 

No  parting  volley  was  fired  over  that  grave,  as  a 
department  order  had  forbidden  the  use  of  mus 
ketry  except  within  certain  hours,  lest  an  unneces 
sary  alarm  be  raised.  The  procession  moved  back 
to  camp  with  a  quick  step  to  the  sound  of  a  lively 
tune.  This  seemed  a  little  incongruous,  but  it  was 
in  accord  with  military  custom.  .  When  the  dead 
are  buried  there  is  other  work  for  the  living  to  do, 
and  they  must  be  at  it  speedily. 

"  Every  man  to  his  duty  ! 
We  have  buried  our  dead." 

Each  regiment  was  likely  to  have  a  burial-place 
for  its  own  men  near  its  camp.  If  the  body  of  a 
comrade  was  sent  for  from  his  home,  it  could  be 
disinterred  and  forwarded  while  the  regiment  re 
mained  near  the  spot.  But  it  was  rarely  that  a 
grave  was  marked  with  a  permanent  memorial,  and, 
when  a  regiment  removed,  the  place  of  its  dead 
was  likely  to  pass  out  of  mind.  Exigencies  of  war 
might  call  for  an  earthwork  or  a  ditch,  where  a 
regimental  burial-place  had  received  the  bodies  of 
those  who  were  dearest  of  earth  to  their  home 
loved  ones.  Or,  again,  the  spot  chosen  for  soldier 
burials  while  regiments  occupied  a  certain  position 
might  soon  be  in  the  hands  of  its  original  owners, 
who  would  not  care  to  give  prominence  to  this 
evidence  of  hostile  occupancy. 


2o8         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Of  course,  it  was  not  easy  for  friends  at  home  to 
realize  that  this  was  the  state  of  things  in  the  army, 
where  their  hero  sons  and  brothers  were  serving 
their  country.  We  had  occasion  to  find  this  out 
in  various  ways.  While  at  New  Berne  I  received 
a  letter  from  a  good  mother  in  Connecticut  telling 
me  that  her  son,  in  another  Connecticut  regiment, 
had  died,  and  been  buried,  some  six  or  eight 
months  before.  She  was  now  thinking  of  having 
his  body  brought  home,  and  she  wanted  to  find  out 
about  it. 

The  regiment  to  which  her  son  had  belonged 
had  been  ordered  away  from  North  Carolina  before 
I  reached  the  army.  No  trace  of  its  burial-place 
was  to  be  found.  I  was  helpless  to  aid  her  search. 
Without  going  into  unnecessary  details  about  army 
burials,  which  would  have  grieved  her  heart,  I 
replied  that  her  son's  regiment  left  New  Berne 
before  I  came  there,  and  I  did  not  know  the  place 
of  his  grave.  At  this  she  wrote  that  she  was  sur 
prised  that  I  was  unwilling  to  do  this  small  service 
for  a  soldier's  mother. 

"Why,  Chaplain,"  she  said,  "  if  you  don't  know 
just  where  my  John  is  buried,  you  might  ask  the 
sexton.  He'll  tell  you." 

Her  ideas  of  soldier  burial-places  were  based  on 
her  knowledge  of  the  New  England  village  ceme 
tery,  where  the  old  sexton  knew  the  precise  loca 
tion  of  eveiy  grave  dug  in  his  day  or  his  father's, 
in  that  graveyard.  Others,  besides  that  mother, 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  209 

may  be  as  much  in  the  dark  as  she  was  about  sol 
dier  graves  and  soldier  burials.  Soldiers  them 
selves  had  to  learn  the  truth  little  by  little,  and  it 
is  well  that  it  was  so. 

When  we  made  a  move  into  the  interior  of 
North  Carolina,  for  the  purpose  of  burning  the 
great  bridge  of  the  Petersburg  and  Weldon  Rail 
road  at  Goldsboro',  we  learned  new  lessons  as  to 
caring  for  the  soldier  dead,  or  as  to  the  necessity  of 
failing  to  care  for  them  in  the  exigencies  of  more 
active  warfare.  At  Kinston  we  had  three  officers 
and  twenty  men  killed,  and  more  than  eighty 
wounded,  in  a  single  charge.  Then  in  a  few  hours 
our  regiment  must  push  on  to  like  service  in  other 
fields.  The  best  that  we  could  do  in  the  brief 
interval  of  our  stay  was  to  bury  our  dead  hurriedly 
in  a  common  grave,  or  in  a  long  trench  by  the 
wayside,  the  officers  by  themselves,  and  the  enlisted 
men  near  them.  Subsequently  the  bodies  of  the 
officers  were  recovered  by  a  flag  of  truce,  but  those 
of  the  men  remained  in  their  wayside  grave  with 
never  a  stone  or  a  stake  to  mark  them,  and  we  had 
reason  to  believe  that  the  field  of  their  burial  would 
be  plowed  and  planted  by  the  returning  owners  as 
though  it  had  never  been  moistened  by  the  blood 
of  patriots. 

Other  regiments  had  their  dead  buried  hurriedly 
on  that  field,  and  on  other  fields  beyond,  where 
they  were  even  more  hastily  covered  with  earth  on 
the  spot  where  they  fell.  There  was  no  time  to  do 


2io         War  Memories  of  a  Clia plain 

more.  As  we  came  back  from  that  expedition  we 
found  some  of  these  hurried  graves  already  par 
tially  uncovered  by  the  wind  and  rain  and  by 
trampling  hoofs,  and  we  realized  that  many  of  the 
soldier  dead  must  fail  of  a  permanent  resting-place 
in  the  bosom  of  mother-earth.  As  I  read  that  day, 
in  my  daily  course  of  Bible  reading,  the  14 1st 
Psalm,  the  words  "  Our  bones  are  scattered  at  the 
grave's  mouth,"  had  a  new  significance  and  im- 
pressiveness  to  me. 

On  Morris  Island,  after  the  attack  on  Fort 
Wagner,  the  disposition  of  the  dead  was  even 
more  suggestive  of  the  darkest  side  of  army  life 
and  of  army  deaths.  Hundreds  of  Union  soldiers 
were  dead  on  the  parapet  of  the  fort,  in  the 
ditch  before  it,  and  all  the  way  down  the  island 
between  the  Union  and  Confederate  lines,  among 
the  sand-hills  or  on  the  intervening  sand  plains.  It 
would  have  been  practically  impossible  for  the  force 
available  to  gather  and  remove  all  the  dead  and 
bury  them  in  permanent  graves.  The  best  that 
could  be  done  at  the  time,  during  the  brief  truce 
arranged  for  the  purpose,  was  to  lift  up  and  remove 
the  wrounded,  and  hurriedly  to  cover  the  bodies  of 
the  dead  in  sand  graves  near  where  they  fell.  And 
a  grave  in  those  shifting  sands,  where  the  ocean 
tides  and  the  whirling  gales  were  continually  over 
turning  what  had  before  been  turned,  was  not  a 
permanent  resting-place;  there  was  no  rest  there 
even  in  the  grave. 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  211 

A  correspondent  of  the  Charleston  Courier,  who 
was  witness  of  the  ghastly  scene  before  Fort  Wag 
ner,  after  the  Saturday  night  attack  on  it,  described 
it  in  terrible  vividness.  "Probably  no  battle-field 
in  the  country,"  he  said,  "has  ever  presented  such 
an  array  of  mangled  bodies  in  so  small  a  compass  as 
was  to  be  seen  on  Sunday  morning.  The  ground 
in  front  of  the  battery  was  thickly  strewn  ;  but  in 
the  ditch  around  the  works  the  dead  and  wounded, 
white  and  black,  were  literally  piled  together. 
Blood,  mud,  water,  brains,  and  human  hair,  matted 
together ;  men  lying  in  every  conceivable  attitude, 
with  every  conceivable  expression  upon  their  coun 
tenance  ;  their  limbs  bent  into  unnatural  shape  by 
the  fall  of  twenty  or  more  feet;  the  fingers  rigid 
and  outstretched  as  if  they  had  clutched  at  the 
earth  to  save  themselves  ;  pale,  beseeching  faces, 
looking  out  from  among  the  ghastly  corpses  with 
moans  and  cries  for  help  and  water,  and  dying 
gasps  and  death  struggles, — these  are  some  of  the 
details  of  the  horrible  picture  which  the  night  of 
Saturday  had  left  to  be  revealed  by  the  dawn  of  a 
peaceful  Sabbath." 

Yet  this  was  but  at  a  single  point  after  the  battle. 
On  both  sides  of  the  line  drawn,  by  mutual  con 
sent,  across  the  island,  during  the  hours  of  truce, 
many  dead  were  buried  where  they  fell.  Some  of 
our  wounded  men  just  beyond  our  lines  were  seen 
by  us  to  lift  themselves  up,  and  strive  vainly  to 
save  themselves,  in  the  sand  hollows,  as  the  incom- 


2 1 2         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

ing  tide  submerged  them  inch  by  inch,  before  they 
sank  back  to  die.  The  greater  number  of  the 
Union  dead  were  buried  by  their  enemy  in  a  com 
mon  pit ;  and  their  resting-places,  with  the  soli 
tary  bodies  hurriedly  covered  in  the  sand  before 
the  fighting  was  renewed,  are  unknown  and  un 
marked  to  the  present  day. 

The  body  of  Colonel  Putnam,  of  the  Seventh 
New  Hampshire,  who  fell  while  leading  his  com 
mand  in  the  assault,  was  returned  to  the  Union 
lines  the  next  day,  on  request  for  it  by  a  flag  of 
truce.  He  was  a  graduate  of  West  Point,  and  was 
well  known  by  the  Confederate  officers.  Special 
respect  was  shown  to  his  memory  by  his  enemies. 
But,  on  the  contrary,  the  body  of  Colonel  Shaw,  of 
a  choice  Boston  family,  who  was  killed  at  the  head 
of  his  regiment,  the  Fifty-fourth  Massachusetts  col 
ored  troops,  was  treated  with  special  indignity,  be 
ing  thrown  into  the  common  pit  with  the  soldiers 
of  his  command,  "under  a  layer  or  two  of  his  own 
dead  negroes,"  as  the  Charleston  Courier  reported 
it.  A  request  for  the  return  of  his  body  was  re 
fused  at  the  time  Colonel  Putnam's  body  was  sent 
back.  Yet  Colonel  Shaw's  name  and  fame,  and 
the  place  of  his  burial,  are  more  prominent  in 
history  in  consequence.  A  soldier's  burial  is  in 
the  thought  of  a  soldier  as  he  faces  death  ;  but 
his  fame  is  surer  than  his  burial. 

Many  a  veteran  soldier,  after  such  experiences 
as  those  of  Kinston  and  Morris  Island,  mused  of 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  2 1 3 

the  future,  as  he  toiled  and  suffered  in  the  dragging 
siege,  or  at  the  perilous  front  : 

"And  I  wonder,  when  this  has  all  passed  o'er, 

And  the  tattered  old  stars  in  triumph  wave  on 
Through  street  and  square,  with  welcoming  roar, 
If  ever  they'  11  think  of  us  who  are  gone. 

"  How  we  marched  together,  sound  or  sick, 

Sank  in  the  trench  o'er  the  heavy  spade — 
How  we  charged  on  the  guns  at  double  quick, 
Kept  rank  for  Death  to  choose  and  to  pick — 
And  lay  on  the  bed  no  fair  hands  made." 

It  seems  to  be  an  instinct  of  our  human  nature 
to  desire  to  be  buried.  From  time  immemorial, 
among  primitive  peoples  as  among  the  most  highly 
civilized,  it  has  been  looked  upon  as  a  terrible 
indignity  or  misfortune  to  be  left  unburied.  The 
lack  of  burial  would  have  been  deemed  a  Divine 
judgment  among  the  ancient  peoples  of  the  East, 
and  the  possibility  of  such  a  fate  for  any  one  of 
our  dear  ones  is  something  from  which  we  cannot 
but  shrink.  Moreover,  there  is  a  certain  comfort, 
sad  though  it  be,  in  knowing  just  where  our  dead 
are  laid,  and  having  the  privilege  of  visiting  the 
hallowed  grave. 

In  my  boyhood  home  there  was,  in  the  village 
cemetery,  a  monument  over  the  grave  of  a  British 
midshipman,  who  was  killed  in  a  boat  during  the 
attack  on  Stonington,  in  the  War  of  1812.  His 
body  was  brought  on  shore  and  buried  at  the  time. 


214         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

After  the  war  his  fellow-officers  erected  this  monu 
ment  to  his  memory.  My  mother  told  me,  in  my 
early  days,  that  some  years  after  the  war,  when  a 
voyage  across  the  ocean  was  more  of  an  under 
taking  than  a  journey  round  the  world  is  now,  an 
English  gentleman,  presumably  the  young  mid 
shipman's  father,  came  to  the  village,  and,  inquiring 
about  that  grave,  went  out  to  it  to  weep  there,  and 
to  have  the  slight  consolation  of  being  near  the 
spot  where  his  son  was  laid  in  the  soil  of  a  stranger 
land.  That  incident  was  often  in  my  mind  when  a 
request  came  to  me,  in  my  army  life,  to  tell  about 
a  soldier's  grave,  or  to  assist  in  sending  home  a 
soldier's  body. 

I  knew  a  Northern  mother  who  lost  a  loved  son 
in  a  naval  attack  on  a  Southern  fort.  His  body 
was  borne  to  his  home,  and  his  mother  found  a 
certain  relief  in  visiting  his  grave.  Another  son  of 
that  mother  was  last  seen  on  the  field  mortally 
wounded  in  a  great  battle.  She  never  knew  where 
was  his  grave,  or  whether  he  was  buried.  For 
months  she  traveled  and  wrote  in  vain  search  of 
information  about  him.  Ten  years  after  the  war 
she  was  still  as  uneasy  about  him  as  the  week  of 
his  death.  Yet  she  had  no  such  anxiety  or  mental 
suffering  as  to  the  brave  son  whose  grave  was  in 
the  family  burial-place.  I  saw  in  her  case  how 
much  the  knowledge  of  the  fact  of  a  soldier's  burial 
might  be  to  the  home  loved  ones. 

While  we  were  near  the  Atlantic  coast,  in  our 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  2 1 5 

army  service,  it  was  practicable  to  send  to  the 
North  a  soldier's  body,  if  it  could  be  obtained  from 
the  battle-field  and  the  military  authorities  would 
allow  it.  Often  the  transportation  of  bodies  on 
government  transports  was  forbidden  during  the 
hotter  months,  or  at  any  season  unless  embalmed. 
In  many  an  instance,  as  at  Morris  Island,  the  body 
could  not  be  recovered.  When  a  body  could  be 
buried  in  a  well-marked  grave,  and  the  relatives 
knew  of  that  fact,  it  was  next  best  to  having  it 
near  home,  and  indeed  it  left  the  hope  of  subse 
quent  recovery  of  the  body.  An  understanding  of 
this  state  of  things  impelled  soldiers  to  make  every 
reasonable  effort  to  secure  a  fitting  burial  to  their 
comrades. 

While  in  Virginia,  in  May,  1864,  one  day  our 
regiment  lost  two  men  on  the  skirmish  line  over 
against  the  enemy  at  a  point  near  the  Richmond 
and  Petersburg  Railroad,  about  eight  or  nine  miles 
below  Richmond.  At  the  close  of  the  day,  during 
a  lull  in  the  firing,  a  grave  was  dug  for  those  two 
men  just  back  of  the  place  where  they  fell.  As 
they  were  wrapped  in  their  blankets  and  laid  in  the 
grave,  a  number  of  their  comrades  stood  about  the 
grave,  while  I  read  a  few  verses  from  the  Bible  and 
spoke  words  of  sympathizing  prayer.  Just  then  the 
enemy  opened  fire  vigorously,  and  charged  down 
upon  our  skirmish  line.  It  seemed  doubtful  for  the 
moment  how  many  would  rest  in  that  open  grave, 
but  we  finished  our  work  and  closed  the  grave. 


216         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Two  large  trees  near  by  were  blazed  to  mark  the 
place.  One  of  those  soldiers  had  a  loved  and  lov 
ing  home  circle  in  Connecticut ;  the  other  was  an 
Englishman,  of  whose  home  we  knew  nothing. 
The  friends  of  the  former  were  informed  of  these 
details. 

Two  years  after  the  war,  at  a  regimental  reunion, 
the  mother  of  that  young  Connecticut  soldier  came 
to  me,  and  asked  about  the  place  of  her  son's 
burial.  Tenderly  I  told  the  story.  She  listened 
with  a  mother's  keen  interest,  and  asked  me  closely 
about  the  locality.  I  did  not  then  suspect  her 
motive  in  these  questions,  but  a  little  later  I  learned 
that  a  party  from  that  stricken  home  had  gone  to 
Richmond,  and  thence  down  along  the  Petersburg 
Railroad  to  the  point  I  had  described ;  had  found 
the  marked  trees  and  the  solitary  soldier  grave,  and 
had  brought  home  the  body  of  the  patriot  here  to 
rest  with  his  fathers  in  their  Connecticut  cemetery. 
It  was  good  to  have  had  a  part  in  giving  that 
measure  of  comfort  to  a  desolated  home.  It  was 
sad  to  be  unable  in  so  many  cases  to  say  a  word  of 
comfort  to  those  who  longed  to  know  where  their 
soldier  dead  rested. 

While  at  St.  Augustine  for  several  months,  guard 
ing  that  fort,  with  the  convalescent  hospital  there, 
our  regiment  had  a  season  of  comparative  rest  after 
its  arduous  service  in  siege  life  on  Morris  Island. 
We  then  had  time  to  bury  the  dead  leisurely,  and 
there  were  many  dead  to  bury  there,  of  our  men 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  2 1 7 

and  of  other  regiments.  More  than  one  new 
burying-ground  was  started  in  some  convenient 
locality  near  the  hospitals  and  the  camps  at  that 
time,  the  signs  of  which  may  or  may  not  continue 
until  now.  A  spot  of  peculiar  interest  to  soldiers 
in  that  quaint  old  town  was  the  United  States 
burial-ground,  where  rested  the  remains  of  officers 
and  men  who  fell  in  the  prolonged  Seminole  war 
of  thirty  years  before,  or  where  monuments  were 
erected  to  tell  of  the  dead  in  that  conflict  whose 
bodies  could  not  be  recovered.  Under  three  small 
pyramids  of  coquina  rock,  stuccoed  and  whitened, 
were  buried  what  could  be  recovered  of  the  remains 
of  Major  Bade  and  more  than  a  hundred  men  of 
his  command  who  were  massacred  by  Osceola  and 
his  band  during  that  war.  Wherever  our  service 
lay,  in  more  active  movements  or  in  comparative 
quiet,  we  found  or  we  formed  soldier  graves,  and 
were  reminded  anew  of  the  strange  vicissitudes  ac 
companying  soldier  burials. 

From  the  prisons  and  prison  hospitals  of  the 
South,  where  so  many  Union  soldiers  were  con 
fined,  and  where  so  many  died,  multitudes  were 
taken  out  for  burial,  and  even  where  the  place  of 
their  graves  was  known  it  was  only  in  exceptional 
cases  that  the  name  of  such  a  dead  soldier  was 
marked  in  enduring  form  above  his  grave.  Some 
of  these  prison  cemeteries  are  still  shown  and 
guarded.  But  the  wounded  prisoners  who  died  on 
their  way  from  the  battle-field  to  the  prison  hos- 


218         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

pital  were  buried  hurriedly,  if  at  all,  with  no  record 
or  note  of  their  graves. 

Yet  more  of  the  unburied  soldier  dead  were  left 
on  the  battle-fields  where  they  fell.  Only  the 
wounded  could  be  brought  away  by  the  retiring 
Union  forces  or  taken  up  to  be  cared  for  by  the 
Confederates  when  they  were  masters  of  the  field. 
At  the  close  of  the  war  there  were  soldier  dead  on 
almost  every  great  battle-field  in  the  South,  from 
Bull  Run  to  Appomattox  Court  House. 

It  was  frequently  the  case  that  our  army,  in  fight 
ing  or  moving  over  the  site  of  a  former  battle,  came 
upon  evidences  of  neglect  of  the  dead  in  the  earlier 
contest.  And  one  of  the  fearful  accompaniments 
of  such  a  war  as  this  was  the  offensive  poisoning  of 
the  air  in  many  instances,  during  the  summer 
months,  by  the  unburied  dead  on  the  field  between 
the  opposing  lines.  Often  an  arrangement  was 
made  by  a  flag  of  truce  for  the  hurried  burial  of 
these  dead  where  they  lay  ;  but,  again,  the  hourly 
expectation  of  a  hostile  movement  stood  in  the 
way  of  such  an  arrangement. 

Even  during  the  last  year  of  the  war,  in  Virginia, 
where  the  dead  were  numbered  by  thousands  in  a 
single  great  battle,  and  the  soldier  graves  were 
great  trenches  in  which  the  dead  were  hurriedly 
laid  and  quickly  covered,  the  memories  which  stand 
out  in  a  chaplain's  recollections  are  of  a  single 
soldier  grave  here  and  there,  where  a  fallen  hero 
was  laid  to  rest  by  his  loving  comrades,  and  a  ten- 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  2 1 9 

der  prayer  was  spoken  above  him.  To  say  that 
two  thousand  or  twenty  thousand  men  are  killed  in 
a  great  battle,  or  that  a  thousand  of  the  dead  are 
buried  in  one  great  trench,  produces  only  a  vague 
impression  on  the  mind  at  the  fullest.  There  is 
too  much  in  this  to  be  truly  personal  to  you.  But 
to  know  one  man  who  is  shot  down  by  your  side, 
and  to  aid  in  burying  him,  while  his  comrades  stand 
with  you  above  his  open  grave,  is  a  more  real 
matter  to  you  than  the  larger  piece  of  astounding 
information. 

During  a  fierce  attack  on  our  lines  at  Bermuda 
Hundreds,  in  the  spring  of  1864,  a  spherical  case 
shot  crashed  through  the  head  of  a  soldier  of  our 
regiment  not  six  feet  from  me,  as  we  stood  back  of 
our  line  of  low  rifle-pits.  His  pleasant  face  actually 
disappeared  as  I  was  looking  at  it.  When  a  few 
minutes  later,  as  we,  having  repelled  the  attack,  had 
a  brief  lull  there  at  the  front,  knowing  as  we  did 
that  we  might  be  ordered  elsewhere  within  an 
hour,  we  dug  a  grave  near  where  that  soldier  fell, 
wrapped  him  in  an  army  blanket,  and  laid  him 
there  at  rest.  The  words  of  prayer  which  I  then 
spoke  were  hearty  words,  and  the  soldier  hearts 
which  throbbed  in  sympathetic  response  were  warm 
and  loving  hearts.  That  entire  incident  occupied 
scarcely  more  than  thirty  minutes.  It  made  no 
show  in  the  official  report,  but  it  filled  more  hearts 
than  one  at  the  time,  and  it  has  a  permanent  place 
in  my  memory. 


220         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Not  far  from  that  time,  while  the  enemy  was  still 
pressing  our  Bermuda  Hundreds  front,  and  firing 
was  going  on  all  along  the  line,  as  I  was  passing 
from  one  point  to  another,  through  the  open  woods, 
I  came  upon  a  group  of  soldiers  burying  a  young 
patriot  who  had  just  fallen  at  his  post  I  stopped 
to  offer  my  services.  The  dead  soldier  was  hardly 
more  than  a  boy  in  years,  but  he  was  already  a  re- 
enlisted  veteran.  His  arms  were  still  in  the  position 
of  holding  his  rifle  to  cock  it  for  firing.  The  thumb 
and  forefinger  of  his  right  hand  were  still  holding 
the  percussion  cap,  which  he  was  putting  on  the 
nipple  of  his  rifle  when  a  bullet  passed  through  his 
lips  and  out  through  the  base  of  his  brain,  killing 
him  instantly.  An  old  soldier  standing  by  the 
grave,  who  had  just  lost  his  own  son  in  battle, 
pointing  to  the  percussion  cap  in  the  death-grip  of 
the  young  soldier,  said  in  loving,  patriotic  pride, 

"  You  see,  Chaplain,  John  died  doing  his  duty." 
As  I  spoke  tender  words  of  appreciation  and 
sympathy  to  those  dear  soldiers,  I  reminded  them 
that  as  John  died  doing  his  duty,  it  was  for  us  to 
live  or  to  die  doing  our  duty.  All  bared  their 
heads  reverently  as  I  prayed  for  the  mourning 
loved  ones  of  the  dead,  for  us  and  for  ours,  and  for 
our  struggling  country.  I  heard  sobs  of  sympa 
thetic  sorrow  from  the  brave  men  as  they  stood  for 
a  moment  in  this  duty,  before  turning  again  to  the 
sterner  realities  of  our  soldier  life,  of  which  re 
minders  were  coming  to  us  in  the  passing  bullets 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  221 

and  the  distant  ringing  rifles,  and  I  felt  how  good 
it  was  to  have  the  privilege  of  doing  anything  for 
such  men  in  such  a  cause. 

There  were  little  soldier  graveyards,  or  burial- 
places,  all  along  the  front,  or  just  back  from  the  front, 
on  the  siege  line  before  Petersburg  and  Richmond, 
during  that  last  year  of  the  war.  And  there  were 
solitary  soldier  graves  here  and  there,  marked  by  a 
rudely  painted  head-board,  made  from  the  cover 
of  a  cracker-box,  or  of  an  ammunition-box,  giving 
the  name  and  battalion  and  date  of  death  of  the 
dead  soldier.  In  the  nature  of  things,  there  could 
be  no  permanency  to  these  graves  as  resting-places 
for  the  dead,  but  they  bore  witness  to  the  natural 
desire  of  men  to  bury  their  dead,  and  to  mark  the 
hallowed  spot,  if  by  any  means  they  might  do  so. 

Before  Petersburg  there  seemed  to  be  army 
graves,  as  there  were  death-dealing  batteries,  every 
where.  Away  at  the  front,  before  our  regimental 
quarters,  there  was  a  single  grave  on  a  barren  sand 
hill.  Two  or  three  graves  under  a  solitary  tree 
were  not  far  from  there.  Half  a  dozen  graves  in  a 
row  were  on  the  plain  below.  Other  graves  apart 
or  collected  were  on  this  side  and  that  Yet  there 
was  no  rest  there,  even  in  death.  The  roar  of 
artillery  and  the  rattle  of  musketry  shook  con 
tinually  the  narrow  beds  of  those  worn-out  soldiers. 
Often  the  thin  covering  of  the  grave  was  torn  off 
by  a  cannon-shot.  I  saw  a  shell  strike  and  explode 
in  the  very  center  of  a  Pennsylvania  soldier's  grave, 


222         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

but  a  few  yards  from  me,  as  if  to  arouse  him  again 
to  action,  and  remind  him  that  he  might  not  sleep 
while  the  war  went  on. 

There  before  Petersburg  it  seemed  at  times  hard 
either  to  keep  out  of  the  grave,  or  to  keep  in  one's 
grave,  or  to  get  one  to  his  grave.  It  was  toilsome 
living  or  dying  in  that  terrible  siege.  At  points 
the  advanced  vidette-pits  of  the  two  sides  were 
within  a  stone's  throw  of  each  other,  and  within 
short  rifle  range  of  the  main  works.  When  hos 
tilities  were  most  active,  it  was  not  an  easy  matter 
to  get  to,  or  to  get  from,  a  vidette-pit,  and  one 
must  keep  under  close  cover  while  there.  Men  on 
duty  there  could  be  relieved  only  by  night,  and 
then  as  quietly  as  possible.  If  a  soldier  raised 
head  or  hand  above  the  low  earth  bank  by  day, 
"chew"  came  a  bullet  past  him,  or  "chug"  came 
a  bullet  into  him.  In  some  cases  the  soft  crown 
of  the  low  bank  of  those  pits  was  actually  cut  down 
from  six  to  twelve  inches — chipped  away  by  re 
peated  bullet-hits — in  one  busy  day,  and  must  be 
repaired  by  the  new  comers,  during  the  night,  for 
the  day  following.  Twenty-four  hours  of  unrelieved 
round  of  duty  in  such  a  place  was  a  long  time  for 
any  man. 

One  day  in  September  an  enlisted  man  of  our 
regiment,  in  one  of  those  pits,  showed  his  head 
above  the  mound  for  a  moment.  A  bullet  crashed 
through  his  forehead,  and  he  fell  back  unconscious. 
His  sole  comrade  in  the  pit,  who  was  as  brave  and 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  223 

daring  a  soldier  as  could  be  found  in  the  regiment, 
knew  that  an  attempt  to  get  his  wounded  com 
panion  to  the  rear  would  be  certain  death.  No 
stretcher  corps  could  come  to  his  relief  before  dark. 
There  was  nothing  left  for  the  lonely  watcher  but 
to  wait.  And  wait  he  did,  nine  weary,  dreary 
hours,  until  the  night  came  with  its  welcome  cover. 
Cramped  in  that  close  clay  pit,  by  the  side  of  his 
bleeding,  moaning,  dying  fellow;  unable  to  lift 
himself  for  a  full  change  of  posture ;  helpless  to 
give,  or  to  seek,  relief  for  the  speechless  sufferer ; 
in  the  heat  of  a  burning  sun,  and  again  in  the 
drenching  of  a  pouring  rain ;  now  brushing  the  flies 
from  the  upturned,  disfigured  face ;  now  giving 
scanty  drops  of  water  to  moisten  the  parching  lips 
of  the  wounded  and  dying  veteran ;  now  shielding 
that  face  from  the  force  of  the  beating  shower, — 
he  passed  the  long  hours  of  the  dragging  day, 
longing  for  darkness,  and  feeling  that  it  would 
never  come.  "I  tell  you,  Chaplain,"  he  said, 
"they  were  long  hours."  And  they  were. 

The  dying  soldier  was  a  jovial,  kindly,  popu 
lar,  and  daring  man,  a  favorite  with  all  the  regi 
ment.  He  was  known  to  all  by  the  familiar  name 
of  "  Muggins."  There  was  a  sense  of  more  than 
common  loss,  that  night,  in  camp,  when  the  bleed 
ing  form  was  laid  in  a  low  splinter-proof  before 
headquarters,  where  we  watched  his  heavy  breath 
ing,  and  looked  into  his  familiar,  now  unresponsive, 
face,  while  kind  yet  unheeded  words  were  spoken 


224         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

to  him,  until  just  past  the  midnight  hour,  when  so 
many  souls  take  flight,  and  he  gave  his  last  labored, 
low  sob,  and  all  was  still. 

We  could  have  no  gatherings  at  that  time  in  our 
camp,  in  sight  of  the  enemy.  A  public  funeral 
was  out  of  the  question.  Yet  we  must  risk  some 
thing  in  loving  regard  of  that  soldier's  memory.  A 
grave  was  dug  for  him  just  back  of  our  camp.  In 
the  morning  a  few  of  us  gathered  about  it,  as  his 
body  was  laid  to  rest.  As  I  stood  at  the  head  of 
that  grave,  facing  the  men,  with  my  back  to  the 
enemy's  works,  reading  a  few  comforting  words  of 
Scripture,  I  heard  the  shriek  of  a  coming  shell,  and 
knew  that  the  enemy  had  observed  our  gathering 
and  opened  fire  on  the  group.  It  was  evident  by 
the  looks  and  the  movements  of  those  near  us  that 
the  aim  and  range  were  good,  but  that  comrade 
should  have  a  Christian  burial  at  any  cost.  Again 
and  again  a  shell  exploded  above  us,  and  its  hurt 
ling  fragments  buried  themselves  in  the  earth  about 
us.  Yet  the  burial  of  that  soldier  was  undisturbed, 
and  the  yellow  earth  was  rounded  above  that  grave. 
Whatever  happened  to  it  afterwards,  it  will  stand 
in  the  memory  of  every  one  of  us,  and  of  many  to 
whom  we  told  of  it,  as  a  representative  soldier 
grave,  where  was  a  representative  soldier  burial  in 
those  trenches  before  Petersburg. 

Just  back  from  the  front,  along  the  Richmond 
and  Petersburg  lines,  among  the  business  firms 
striving  to  obtain  custom  from  the  army  in  the  line 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  225 

of  soldier  needs  or  soldier  wants,  were  at  one  time 
two  rival  embalmers,  ready  to  prepare  soldier 
bodies  for  sending  North  to  their  relatives  in  ac 
cordance  with  government  requirements.  These 
concerns  would  send  their  teams  along  the  front 
advertising  their  business,  and  asking  for  patronage. 
Their  handbills  were  headed  seductively,  "The 
Honored  Dead,"  and  their  appeals  were  an  incon 
gruous  mixture  of  the"  claims  of  sentiment  and  the 
cash  cost  of  caring  for  a  dead  comrade.  One  of 
these  embalmers,  while  receiving  an  unusual  num 
ber  of  fresh  subjects  for  his  care,  after  another 
fierce  battle,  gave  expression  to  his  quickened 
sense  of  the  fearful  cost  of  the  prolonged  conflict 
in  spite  of  the  commercial  aspects  of  his  personal 
self-interest,  in  the  words  : 

"  Chaplain,  I  should  be  glad  to  have  this  terrible 
war  end,  even  though  peace  would  greatly  interfere 
with  my  business." 

The  saddest  soldier  grave  in  army  fields  was  the 
grave  of  a  deserter,  and  I  saw  many  such  graves  in 
the  last  year  of  the  war.  The  grave  was  dug  on 
the  field  while  the  soldier  was  still  living.  He 
knelt  at  its  open  mouth  with  his  arms  bound  be 
hind  him  and  his  eyes  blindfolded,  and  there  he 
was  shot  down  in  cold  blood  by  fellow-soldiers. 
Buried  quickly  in  that  grave,  he  had  no  stone  or 
board  to  mark  his  resting-place.  His  body  could 
not  be  recovered  by  friends.  If  shot  under  a 
feigned  name,  as  was  often  the  case,  he  was  not 


226         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

even  known  in  his  home  circle  as  a  deserter,  but 
he  was  counted  as  one  of  the  honored  dead  of  the 
war,  or  as  one  of  the  many,  many  "missing." 

In  December,  1864,  as  I  rode  with  a  companion 
out  on  the  Darbytown  road  below  Richmond,  as 
we  neared  the  extreme  front,  and  were  listening  to 
the  clearly  heard  voices  of  the  enemy  over  the  line, 
with  the  sound  of  an  occasional  woodchopper's  ax 
in  that  direction,  we  were  surprised  at  the  sudden 
appearance  of  a  party  coming  up  from  our  rear, 
comprising  four  or  five  enlisted  men  bearing  a 
plain  coffin.  They  had  ventured  out  thus  far  to 
secure  the  body  of  a  sergeant  from  a  New  York 
regiment,  buried  on  the  field  where  he  fell  some 
months  before.  His  grave  was  just  at  our  feet,  not 
three  rods  from  our  advanced  vidette  line.  One  of 
the  party  was  a  younger  brother  of  the  dead  sol 
dier.  He  had  taken  his  brother's  place  as  sergeant. 
Poor  fellow!  he  deemed  it  dearly  bought  promo 
tion.  When  the  grave  was  opened  he  turned  aside 
to  weep,  and  with  tearful  eyes  he  told  me  how  that 
noble  brother  had  stood,  and  had  fallen,  true  to 
Christ  and  true  to  his  country. 

As  the  body,  wrapped  in  a  soldier  blanket,  was 
laid  in  the  coffin,  the  soft  strains  of  distant  music 
from  an  enemy's  band  came  floating  up  on  the 
early  evening  air,  as  though  to  sound  a  requiem 
over  the  soldier  dead.  The  last  rays  of  the  setting 
sun  fell  upon  the  refilled  grave,  as  we  turned  to 
ward  our  camp  again,  and  as  one  more  soldier's 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  227 

body  was  moving  from  its  battle-field  grave  to  its 
grave  among  the  home  loved  ones,  who  were  now 
to  have  the  sacred  privilege,  which  was  denied  to 
so  many  friends  of  a  dead  soldier,  of  knowing  and 
visiting  his  grave. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  war  was  closed,  and  I 
passed  over  some  of  the  great  battle-fields  of 
months  or  of  years  before,  that  I  came  to  realize 
how  large  a  proportion  of  the  soldier  dead  were 
never  buried,  even  in  a  hurried  way,  at  the  time, 
and  where,  they  fell  ;  and  how  small  indeed  must 
have  been  the  number  relatively  of  those  dead 
whose  bodies  finally  reached  their  home  burial- 
places,  to  have  their  graves  flower-bestrewed  by 
their  own  dear  ones  on  each  recurring  Memorial 
Day.  Our  regiment  was  stationed  just  above  Rich 
mond  from  April  to  September,  1865.  In  brief 
rides  about  the  country  at  that  time,  I  visited  not 
only  the  fields  of  General  Grant's  great  battles  of 
1864,  but  those  of  General  McClellan  in  1862.  At 
Fair  Oaks,  or  Seven  Pines,  for  example,  there  were 
still  to  be  seen  many  traces  of  the  fierce  fight  there 
three  years  before.  Uncovered  bones  were  still  to 
be  found,  and  many  more  had  been  covered  for  the 
first  time  within  the  last  few  weeks.  Here  and  there, 
where  was  the  memory  of  a  particularly  desperate 
charge,  green  spots  dotted  the  surface,  where  the 
richer  than  wonted  luxuriance  of  Southern  vegeta 
tion  showed  that  the  fertile  soil  of  Virginia  was 
further  enriched  with  Northern  patriot  blood. 


228         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

My  immediate  companion,  an  army  surgeon, 
seemed  to  consider  some  of  these  relics  rather  as 
a  man  of  science  than  as  the  loyal  patriot  that  he 
was.  Pointing  to  the  low  forehead  of  one  bleached 
skull,  he  said  : 

"  Not  much  intellect  there  ! " 

That  poor  soldier  may  have  been  brave  and  true, 
even  though  not  a  scholar. 

Taking  up  the  thigh-bone  of  another  soldier,  not 
far  from  that  skull,  he  said,  in  an  approving  tone  : 

"  There  was  good  blood  there ;  there's  the  right 
curve  to  that  femur." 

Sorrow  had  shaded  a  home  of  refinement  when 
that  soldier  fell. 

In  a  swamp  near  by  was  many  a  heap  where 
earth  had  been  thrown  hurriedly  over  a  body,  only 
to  be  washed  off  by  the  coming  rains,  leaving  the 
wasting  remains  partially  or  wholly  exposed.  By 
the  trunk  of  a  fallen  tree  one  soldier  had  died. 
He  may  have  been  shot  while  on  duty  there,  or 
he  may  have  crawled,  when  wounded,  to  a  pro 
tecting  cover,  and  there  died.  No  grave  had  been 
dug  for  him,  but  a  few  shovelfuls  of  earth  had  been 
thrown  over  his  body  against  the  tree-trunk,  only 
to  be  washed  off  by  the  coming  rains,  leaving  him 
there  in  his  unmarked  and  solitary  resting-place. 
And  there  were  similar  signs  of  the  long-unburied 
soldier  dead  at  Games' s  Mill  and  at  Mechanicsville. 

At  Cold  Harbor,  also  visited  at  that  time,  there 
had  been  burial-parties  sent  out  by  the  Christian 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  229 

Commission  to  bury  the  bodies  which  had  lain  un- 
cared  for  for  a  twelvemonth.  Officers  and  men 
were  buried  together,  fifty  in  one  grave,  seventy-five 
in  another,  a  hundred  in  another, — hundreds  and 
hundreds  in  all.  And  these  were  but  typical  battle 
fields  of  the  war,  as  to  our  soldier  dead. 

Three  years  after  the  war,  I  attended  Memorial 
Day  services  in  Richmond,  on  May  29,  for  the 
Confederate  dead,  and  on  May  30  for  the  Union 
soldiers.  Both  were  sincere  and  pathetic  services, 

"  Love  and  tears  for  the  blue, 
Tears  and  love  for  the  gray." 

In  Hollywood  Cemetery,  the  wealth  and  fashion  of 
Richmond,  and  very  many  of  the  humble  poor  of 
the  city,  brought  their  floral  tributes  to  the  graves 
of  their  soldier  dead.  Eveiy  grave  had  its  floral 
offering,  although,  of  course,  some  had  more 
mourners  than  others.  Fine  private  carriages  stood 
near  the  entrance.  Public  stages,  old  ambulances, 
and  army  wagons,  brought  their  loads.  Children 
from  the  orphan  asylum  walked  in  procession  with 
their  fragrant  burdens.  Negroes  carried  baskets 
and  trays  full  of  flowers  to  testify  their  regard  for 
those  whom  they  had  served  in  life,  and  now 
honored  in  death. 

The  national  cemetery  was  just  out  of  the  city,  on 
the  Williamsburg  road.  There,  in  a  large  en 
closure,  the  tasteful  grounds  of  which  were  laid  out 
with  military  precision,  were  the  green  mounds 


230         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

covering  more  than  six  thousand  soldiers  of  the 
government  who  had  died  in  its  defense.  Some  of 
them  fell  on  the  great  battle-fields,  at  the  gates  of 
this  long -beleaguered  city;  some  gave  up  their 
lives  at  a  solitary  outpost  or  on  the  advanced 
skirmish  lines;  others  pined  away  and  died  on 
Belle  Island,  in  the  tobacco  warehouses,  or  in  the 
gloomy  Libby  Prison.  Little  did  any  of  them 
think,  in  the  hour  of  dark  defeat  or  of  weary 
imprisonment,  that  their  remains  would  be  watched 
and  tended,  and  even  flower-bedecked,  here  in  the 
veiy  stronghold  they  vainly  sought  to  subdue.  But 
now  each  grave  was  mounded  and  marked.  On  its 
neat  head-board  was  given  the  name  and  battalion 
of  the  dead  hero,  if  known,  or  the  simple  legend, 
"  Unknown  U.  S.  Soldier,"  which  made  his  grave 
as  sacred  as  a  corps  commander's.  On  a  lofty 
staff  above  a  prominent  mound  in  the  center  of  the 
enclosure,  the  American  flag  was  kept  flying  from 
sunrise  to  sunset  every  day  in  the  year. 

Most  touching  of  all  the  observances  of  that 
Memorial  Day,  thus  early  after  the  war,  was  the 
planting  of  a  tiny  United  States  flag  above  each 
grave  at  the  close  of  the  opening  prayer.  None 
of  the  freely  lavished  floral  offerings  could  so  touch 
a  soldier's  heart  as  that  flag  above  his  comrade's 
grave.  For  love  of  that  flag  the  soldier  had 
battled,  endured,  and  died.  It  represented  all  that 
he  loved  and  lived  for,  and  for  which  he  gave  up 
his  life.  Six  thousand  national  flags  in  a  single 


Soldier  Graves  and  Soldier  Burials  231 

Richmond  cemetery  was  a  sight  to  thank  God  for. 
Upward  of  ten  thousand  visitors  in  that  one  day 
honored  those  soldier  dead.  Most  of  the  visitors 
were  white  citizens  ;  yet  the  negroes  also  came 
there  to  that  shrine  of  liberty,  from  the  gray-haired, 
bowed  old  patriarch  down  to  the  toddling  child, 
bringing  fresh  flowers  as  the  offering  of  grateful 
hearts  to  the  memory  of  those  whose  dying  won 
their  freedom. 

At  the  close  of  the  war,  at  least  a  half-million 
Union  soldiers  lay  dead  on  the  fields  where  they 
fell,  or  in  burial-places  near  by. 

"Count  who  can  the  fields  they've  pressed, 
Each  face  to  the  solemn  sky. ' ' 

Three  hundred  and  twenty-five  thousand  of  these 
soldier  dead  now  rest  in  eighty-three  national  ceme 
teries,  owned  and  tended  by  the  United  States  Gov 
ernment,  at  various  points  from  New  York  to  San 
Francisco,  and  from  Florida  to  Iowa.  They  were 
gathered  into  these  sacred  enclosures  from  more 
than  a  hundred  battle-fields  and  scores  of  army  hos 
pitals  and  prison  stockades,  South  and  North. 
Thousands  upon  thousands  more  lie  in  city  and 
village  cemeteries,  and  in  smaller  family  burial- 
places  all  our  country  over.  Yet  unnumbered 
others,  buried  hastily  where  they  fell,  or  left  un- 
buried,  singly  or  in  groups,  at  out-of-the-way  places 
in  the  extensive  country  fought  over  by  our  armies, 
were  never  recovered,  and  the  traces  of  their  last 


232         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

lonely  bivouac  are  finally  lost  to  sight.  Even  of 
the  third  of  a  million  graves  in  our  national  ceme 
teries,  nearly  one  hundred  and  fifty  thousand  bear 
the  mark  "  Unknown,"  and  no  loved  one  can  claim 
a  personal  interest  in  them. 

Whether  in  a  known  or  an  unknown  grave,  the 
soldier  who  died  that  his  country  might  live,  who 
fell  that  we  and  ours  might  continue  to  rise,  is  de 
serving  of  loving  honor  to  the  end  of  time.  Of 
these  dead  soldiers,  of  their  work,  and  of  their 
worth,  Lord,  keep  our  memory  green  ! 


CHAPTER  X 

UNDER    A    FLAG    OF   TRUCE 

For  two  parties  to  be  engaged  in  a  life-and-death 
struggle,  each  striving  to  the  utmost  to  destroy  the 
other,  and  yet  each  willing  to  respect  and  heed  a 
white  flag  displayed  by  his  opponent,  not  as  a  sign 
of  surrender  and  submission,  but  as  a  sign  of  a  de 
sire  for  a  temporary  cessation  of  hostilities  and  a 
courteous  conference  over  matters  of  greater  or  less 
importance,  seems  strangely  inconsistent.  But  in 
consistent  as  this  custom  may  seem,  it  has  a  sub 
stantial  basis,  and  it  is  an  exhibit  of  one  of  the  best 
sides  of  human  nature. 

It  seems  to  show  that  "  civilized  warfare  "  is  not 
a  mere  manifestation  of  barbarism  and  brute  force, 
but  is  an  outgrowth,  or  a  survival,  of  the  primitive 
idea  that  an  appeal  to  arms  in  a  matter  of  impor 
tant  difference  is  an  appeal  to  God,  or  to  the 
gods,  for  a  decision  on  the  submitted  issue.  Thus, 
for  instance,  in  the  case  of  David  and  Goliath,  of 
Achilles  and  Hector,  of  the  Horatii  and  the 
Curatii,  and  in  many  a  like  combat  in  earlier  and 
later  days.  A  flag  of  truce  in  warfare  is  therefore 
expressive  of  that  reverence  which  should  be  felt 

233 


234         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


by  those  who  are  in  God's  service  even  in  their 
fighting,  and  who  would  be  fair  and  honorable  in 
their  dealings  with  those  with  whom  they  contend 
before  God  in  a  matter  of  life  and  death. 

In  this  sense  it  was  that  the  old  feudal  nobles  of 
Europe,  in  their  continual  conflicts,  were  accus 
tomed,  for  centuries,  to  observe  religiously  the 
"  Truce  of  God,"  or  the  "  Peace  of  God,"  during 
which  they  were  to  refrain  from  all  aggressive 
movements  on  ecclesiastical  fasts  and  feasts,  and  at 
other  seasons  designated  by  the  Church.  And 
therefore  it  is  that  the  wilful  violation  of  a  flag  of 
truce  at  the  present  day  by  a  commander  in  an  im 
portant  contest  shocks  the  civilized  world  as  an 
inhuman  and  godless  action. 

My  earliest  memories  of  the  term  "  a  flag  of 
truce,"  with  its  strange  import  and  involvings,  go 
back  to  the  time  when,  as  a  child,  in  my  native 
place,  at  Stonington,  Connecticut,  at  the  eastern 
extremity  of  Long  Island  Sound,  I  listened  to  the 
recital  by  my  mother  of  her  experiences  as  a  young 
girl  during  the  war  with  England  in  1812-14.  In 
August,  1814,  a  British  fleet,  under  Commodore 
Hardy,  which  had  for  some  time  been  blockading 
the  entrance  to  the  harbor,  made  an  attack  on 
Stonington,  and  attempted  its  destruction  by  bom 
bardment  and  the  landing  of  an  armed  force.  It 
was  in  the  story  of  that  attack  and  the  incidents 
that  preceded  and  followed  it  that  my  mother  told 
of  flags  of  truce,  and  impressed  my  young  mind 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  235 

with  the  strange  anomaly  of  amicable  conferences 
between  those  who  were  preparing  for  deadly  con 
flict. 

She  told  of  that  ninth  day  of  August  when  her 
father  came  hurriedly  into  the  house  to  tell  his  wife 
and  child  that  they  must  leave  immediately  for  the 
home  of  a  relative,  a  mile  or  so  above  the  village, 
for  the  village  itself  would  soon  be  bombarded  and 
burned  by  the  British  fleet  He  said  that  a  boat 
from  Commodore  Hardy  had  just  come  in,  under  a 
flag  of  truce,  bringing  a  message  that  one  hour 
would  be  given  for  the  removal  of  the  women  and 
children  from  the  village  before  the  village  itself 
should  be  destroyed. 

Then  she  told  of  the  hurrying  of  many,  with  such 
of  their  personal  possessions  as  they  could  carry, 
out  of  the  village  into  the  country,  with  mingled 
feelings  of  wonder  and  dread  until  they  had 
reached  places  of  comparative  safety,  while  the 
able-bodied  men  of  the  village  prepare'd  for  resist 
ance.  She  described  vividly  the  strange  sight  when, 
after  dark,  they  could  see  signs  of  the  progressing 
battle  in  the  streaming  Congreve  rockets,  and  the 
fire-tracked  bombs,  and  the  burning  incendiary  car 
casses,  with  the  glare  of  an  occasional  blazing  build 
ing  ;  and  when,  in  the  morning,  they  could  hear  the 
sound  of  cannon  and  musketry,  while  they  were  in 
anxious  suspense  as  to  their  fathers  and  brothers,  or 
husbands  and  sons,  or  friends  and  neighbors,  bat 
tling  in  the  cloud  of  smoke  in  the  distance.  I  suf- 


236         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

fered  in  imagination  with  those  beleaguered  villagers 
until  my  mother  reached  the  point  in  her  story 
where,  on  that  next  day,  the  loth  of  August,  the 
firing  ceased,  and  the  glad  news  came  that  the 
enemy  was  repulsed  with  a  severe  loss,  while  only 
one  villager  was  wounded.  How  my  young  heart 
bounded  with  joy  and  pride  over  that !  And  thus 
it  was  that  I  took  my  first  lesson  in  patriotism  and 
in  the  realities  of  war. 

"But  what,"  I  asked  curiously,  "is  'a  flag  of 
truce ' ?  " 

My  mother  explained  to  me  its  meaning  ;  and  to 
make  it  more  real  she  took  from  a  bureau  drawer  a 
large  white  towel  which  had  been  actually  used  as  a 
flag  of  truce  in  a  visit  to  the  British  fleet,  when  my 
father,  then  a  young  unmarried  man,  had  gone  with 
an  older  citizen,  bearing  a  message  of  explanation 
to  Commodore  Hardy.  At  this,  I  went  to  my 
father  to  learn  more  about  that  special  flag  of  truce. 
He  told  of  the  circumstances  of  its  sending,  and  of 
its  polite  reception.  He  and  his  colleague  were  re 
ceived  on  board  the  flagship  Ramilies,  and  con 
ducted  to  the  cabin  to  see  Commodore  Hardy. 

Commodore  Hardy  was  captain  of  the  Victory, 
the  flagship  of  Admiral  Nelson,  at  the  time  of  that 
hero's  death,  at  the  battle  of  Trafalgar,  and  it  was 
to  him  that  Lord  Nelson  said,  "  Kiss  me,  Hardy, 
before  I  die."  My  father  said  that  after  the  mes 
sage  of  the  Stonington  embassy  had  been  accepted 
graciously,  Commodore  Hardy,  in  saying  a  few 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  237 

pleasant  words  to  the  visitors,  pointed  to  a  lounge, 
or  settee,  in  the  cabin,  which  he  had  brought  from 
his  old  ship  Victory,  and  said  : 

"  It  may  interest  you,  gentlemen,  to  know  that  on 
that  couch  Lord  Nelson  lay  in  his  death,  after  I  had 
given  him  my  parting  embrace." 

As  I  looked  at  that  simple  towel,  with  its  historic 
associations,  preserved  in  our  home  as  a  memorable 
relic,  a  "flag  of  truce,"  as  described  by  my  parents, 
had  a  very  real  significance  to  me.  And  when, 
long  years  after,  I  came  to  be  personally  familiar 
with  flags  of  truce,  and  on  more  than  one  occasion 
to  approach,  or  to  pass  beyond,  the  enemy's  lines 
under  such  a  flag,  I  had  always  more  or  less  of 
those  impressions  concerning  it  which  were  burned 
into  my  mind  in  my  boyhood  years. 

In  our  Civil  War  the  use  of  flags  of  truce  was 
frequent  and  various.  Besides  those  occasions 
when  the  opposing  authorities  desired  to  arrange  for 
the  care  of  the  wounded  and  the  burial  of  the  dead, 
the  exchange  of  prisoners,  the  passage  of  a  civilian 
through  the  lines,  and  such  matters  as  are  often  the 
subject  of  formal  negotiation  and  conference  be 
tween  belligerents,  there  were  times  when  the  pecu 
liar  circumstances  of  the  opposing  parties  led  to  the 
unauthorized  but  kindly  use  of  what  passed  for  a 
flag  of  truce,  and  which  evidenced  the  real  brother 
hood  of  those  who  were  arrayed  against  each  other 
as  enemies. 

During  such  protracted  sieges  as  that  of  Vicks- 


238         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

burg,  of  Charleston,  and  of  Petersburg  and  Rich 
mond,  where  men  stood  over  against  each  other, 
within  sight  and  call,  for  weeks  or  months  together, 
those  who  were  ready  to  give  battle  earnestly  when 
the  occasion  called  for  zealous  struggle  were  not 
willing  to  shoot  each  other  down  in  cold  blood  in 
every-day  siege  life,  where  there  was  nothing  to  be 
gained  by  such  murderous  acts,  and  where  men 
lacked  the  excitement  of  battle,  or  the  pressure  of 
patriotic  duty,  to  impel  them  to  action.  In  this 
state  of  things  there  grew  up  a  peculiar  custom.  A 
man,  on  the  one  side  or  the  other,  would  hold  up 
prominently  a  white  handkerchief,  or  a  sheet  of 
white  paper,  as  a  sign  of  desire  for  a  tacit  or  informal 
truce.  If  it  were  responded  to  by  a  similar  sign  on 
the  opposite  side,  and  not  at  once  forbidden  by  the 
officer  in  command,  it  was  accepted  by  all  as  bind 
ing  both  sides  to  refrain  from  any  offensive  move 
ment  for  the  time  being. 

Often  at  such  times  the  men  would  jump  over 
their  rifle-pits,  or  embankments,  and  meet  each 
other  peacefully  between  the  lines,  swapping  coffee, 
of  which  the  Union  soldiers  had  an  abundance,  for 
tobacco,  with  which  the  Confederates  were  well 
supplied  ;  exchanging  newspapers,  bartering  "  hard 
tack  "  for  corn-cake,  conversing  pleasantly,  or  ban 
tering  each  other  with  good-natured  references  to 
their  local  peculiarities.  Sometimes  two  opponents 
would  sit  down  on  the  ground  for  a  friendly  game 
of  cards.  If  firing  were  heard,  at  the  right  or  left, 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  239 

which  seemed  to  indicate  a  renewal  of  hostilities,  or 
if  a  call  came  from  an  officer  on  either  side,  at  once 
the  men  jumped  back  into  their  own  lines,  and 
made  ready  for  fresh  combat  with  their  quondam 
friends. 

In  some  cases  old  acquaintances  recognized 
each  other,  or  relatives  met  face  to  face.  On 
one  occasion,  before  Petersburg,  a  Union  regiment 
from  Maryland,  serving  with  our  brigade,  was  over 
against  a  Confederate  regiment  from  the  same  state. 
During  one  of  these  tacit  truces,  as  the  men  of  the 
two  brigades  were  together  between  the  lines  of 
works,  a  father  in  the  Maryland  Union  regiment 
met  his  son,  a  soldier  in  the  Maryland  Confederate 
regiment  The  meeting  was  a  surprise  to  both,  but 
it  was  an  amicable  one.  Each  soldier  had  been 
true  to  his  own  convictions.  The  old  man  was 
loyal  to  the  flag  he  had  loved  and  honored  from  his 
youth.  The  young  man  had  been  carried  away  by 
the  excitement  which  swept  so  many  of  his  com 
panions  into  the  opposing  ranks.  They  greeted 
each  other  affectionately,  and  talked  together  until 
the  signal  came  for  the  ending  of  the  truce,  when 
they  sprang  apart,  each  to  his  own  lines,  and  again 
they  were  over  against  each  other  in  deadly  con 
flict.  This  seemed  strange,  but  it  was  typical  of 
the  whole  great  war. 

A  fine  sense  of  honor  prevailed  in  the  general 
recognition  of  the  sacredness  of  these  informal  and 
tacit  truces.  Men  would  not  fire  at  each  other,  at 


240         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  close  of  one  of  these  seasons,  until  both  parties 
had  had  time  to  settle  down  to  business  again.  If, 
on  any  occasion,  an  officer  seemed  to  lack  consid 
eration  for  those  who  were  on  such  friendly  terms, 
his  men  were  quite  likely  to  feel  that  their  "  friends 
the  enemy  "  ought  to  be  notified  of  the  fact. 

"Yanks,  keep  your  heads  under  to-day.  We've 
got  an  officer  of  the  day  on  who  wants  us  to  be 
firing  all  the  time  ;  so  look  out." 

This  was  the  call  that  came  to  us  one  day  across 
the  lines  at  Petersburg  ;  and  it  was  naturally  heeded, 
behind  the  low  earthworks  which  guarded  our  front 
at  that  point.  Such  fairness  was  sure  to  meet  with 
a  like  return.  Officers  generally,  however,  on  both 
sides,  recognized  the  true  state  of  things,  and  were 
not  willing  to  take  any  unfair  advantage  of  it. 

One  evening,  at  the  Petersburg  front,  several 
Confederate  soldiers  dragged  a  man  of  our  brigade 
into  their  lines,  at  the  close  of  one  of  these  seasons 
of  truce  ;  and  they  took  him  as  a  prisoner  into  the 
presence  of  their  commander,  General  Roger  A. 
Pryor,  of  Virginia  (now  Judge  Pryor  of  New  York). 
The  Union  soldier  protested,  and  told  his  story. 
General  Pryor  turned  to  his  men,  and  asked  if  this 
was  the  truth.  When  they  admitted  that  it  was,  he 
said  quietly  to  our  man  : 

"  Go  back,  then,  to  your  own  lines ;  "  and  he  added 
to  the  captors  : 

"  Let  him  go  back.  I  don't  want  anything  of 
this  sort  in  my  command." 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  241 

There  is  not  an  old  soldier  who  knew  of  this  who 
is  not  ready  to  this  day  to  cheer  for  General  Pryor 
for  his  chivalry  and  fairness  as  shown  in  this  trans 
action. 

An  exceptional  experience  to  which  I  was  called 
in  North  Carolina,  in  connection  with  a  flag  of 
truce,  illustrates  a  peculiar  phase  of  this  kind 
of  army  service.  In  December,  1862,  at  the  time  of 
General  Burnside's  attack  on  Fredericksburg,  Vir 
ginia,  General  Foster  made  a  move  into  the  interior 
of  North  Carolina,  with  the  purpose  of  destroying 
the  bridge  at  Goldsboro',  on  the  Weldon  Railroad, 
so  as  to  cut  off  the  retreat  of  General  Lee  in  that 
direction,  in  case  General  Burnside's  attack  was 
successful. 

In  a  severe  battle  at  Kinston,  on  December  14, 
my  regiment  suffered  heavily,  and  I  buried  on  the 
field  three  of  our  line  officers  and  a  large  number 
of  enlisted  men.  After  our  work  at  Goldsboro'  was 
accomplished,  and  we  had  returned  to  New  Berne, 
a  request  was  made  of  the  Confederate  officer  in 
command  for  permission  to  recover  the  bodies  of 
those  officers.  Consent  being  granted,  I  was 
directed  to  accompany  the  flag  of  truce,  in  com 
mand  of  Major  Stevenson,  of  the  Twenty-fourth 
Massachusetts,  for  that  purpose. 

On  the  morning  of  Tuesday,  December  30,  our 
party,  consisting  of  four  officers  and  twenty  men, 
with  two  ambulances  containing  coffins,  left  General 
Foster's  headquarters  on  our  peaceful  mission. 


242          War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Out  on  the  road  we  had  passed  and  repassed  in 
such  force  two  weeks  before,  we  soon  reached  our 
outer  picket  line,  and  went  beyond  it.  Then  it  was 
that  we  were  fairly  under  the  flag  of  truce.  We  no 
longer  trusted  to  the  Stars  and  Stripes.  Not  the 
flag  of  the  United  States  government,  but  the  white 
flag  of  universal  peace,  was  over  us,  and  we  had 
confidence  in  it.  A  sergeant  bearing  the  flag  rode 
a  few  paces  in  advance  of  our  party,  as  we  pro 
ceeded  toward  Kinston.  About  two  o'clock  we  saw 
the  enemy's  picket  line  some  twenty  miles  from 
New  Berne.  Moving  forward  more  slowly,  we  were 
met  by  Lieutenant  Hanna,  of  a  North  Carolina 
regiment,  who  conducted  us  to  Captain  Shaw  of  the 
same  command.  Having  communicated  to  him 
our  message,  we  were  told  that  we  must  wait  for  an 
answer  from  General  Evans,  in  command  at  Kins- 
ton,  some  twenty  miles  distant.  This  would  require 
several  hours,  and  we  could  stop  for  the  night  at  a 
farmhouse  near  the  picket  line.  Accordingly  we 
rested  there. 

A  glimpse  was  thus  afforded  us  of  a  plain  home 
within  the  Confederate  lines  in  war  time.  The  men 
of  the  house  were  off  at  war.  The  wife  and  mother 
was  in  charge.  She  was  no  more  inquisitive  than 
a  Northern  woman  would  have  been,  but,  like  many 
another  person  whom  I  had  met  in  her  region,  she 
had  only  vague  ideas  of  the  North  and  the  Union 
army.  At  Little  Washington,  a  few  weeks  before, 
a  man  whom  I  met  inquired  : 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  243 

"  How  big's  the  Norf  ?     Big  as  New  Berne  ?  " 

New  Berne  was  the  largest  city  he  had  ever  seen, 
and  it  was  consequently  his  measure  of  magnitude. 
After  all,  our  ideals  arc  in  the  main  based  on  our 
experiences  and  observations.  What  we  have  seen 
limits  and  shapes  what  we  imagine. 

This  woman  had  evidently  known  a  few  persons 
who  hailed  from  the  North,  and  she  thought  they 
might  be  in  the  "Northern  army." 

"Be  thar'  ony  Harrisons  in  yer  army?"  she 
asked. 

This  was  a  large  question  for  one  man  to  answer. 
Surmising  what  prompted  her  question,  I  responded 
inquiringly  : 

"  Did  you  ever  know  a  man  named  Harrison  ?  " 

"Yas." 

"  Where  was  he  from  ?  " 

"The  North." 

"  What  was  his  business  ?  " 

"Sellin'  clocks." 

Then  I  thought  I  could  locate  the  part  of  Con 
necticut  he  came  from. 

She  brought  to  us  part  of  a  quarto  volume  of  a 
government  report  of  a  survey  of  lines  for  the 
Pacific  Railroad.  One  cover  was  gone,  and  about 
one-third  of  the  leaves. 

"  Her's  a  book  yur  army  dropped  when  it  went 
along,"  she  said.  "  Some  o't's  gone  ;  but  ther's  a 
good  deal  o't  left." 

She  said  this  as  if  a  book  were  sold  by  the  pound, 


244         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

regardless  of  its  completeness  or  continuity.  It 
evidently  had  no  other  value  to  her.  We  saw  that 
it  must  have  been  taken  by  our  soldiers  from  some 
house  below,  a  portion  of  it  torn  off,  and  the  re 
mainder  thrown  away.  Thanking  her  for  her  kind 
ness,  we  declined  to  reclaim  it.  We  made  our 
selves  as  comfortable  as  we  could  for  the  night, 
the  officers  sleeping  indoors  on  the  floor,  and  the 
men  outside. 

It  was  nearly  noon  the  next  day  before  the  mes 
senger  came  back  from  General  Evans.  The 
General  said  that  one  officer,  unattended,  could 
come  on  to  Kinston.  A  driver  would  be  furnished 
on  that  side  of  the  lines  for  a  single  ambulance  with 
the  coffins,  and  all  needful  assistance  would  be  fur 
nished  by  the  Confederate  authorities.  As  I  was 
the  only  officer  who  knew  just  where  our  officers 
were  buried,  I  was  necessarily  designated  for  this 
service.  Parting  with  the  others,  I  put  myself 
under  the  Confederate  cavalry  escort,  and  started 
on  toward  Kinston. 

This  was  a  new  experience.  No  longer  under 
the  Stars  and  Stripes,  nor  yet  under  a  white  flag,  I 
came  under  the  Stars  and  Bars,  and  committed  my 
self,  nothing  doubting,  to  those  whom  our  men  had 
striven  so  earnestly  to  destroy  when  I  passed  up 
that  road  before.  Not  a  Union  soldier  was  near 
me.  In  spite  of  my  confidence,  there  was  a  feeling 
of  strangeness  as  we  turned  away  from  our  men  and 
went  forward  with  the  enemy  into  the  enemy's 


Under  a  Flag  of  Twice  245 

countiy.  Every  attention  that  could  promote  my 
comfort  was  shown  by  Lieutenant  Hines,  of  the 
Sixty-third  North  Carolina  regiment,  in  command 
of  the  cavalry  escort,  and  I  conversed  pleasantly 
with  him  as  I  rode  by  his  side. 

It  is  the  privilege  of  an  enemy,  receiving  an 
officer  on  such  a  mission,  to  bind  him  by  his  word 
of  honor  not  to  divulge,  to  the  opponent's  injury, 
any  fact  obtained  by  him  while  thus  a  guest.  Or,  he 
may  be  blindfolded  while  passing  any  fortification  or 
other  important  point,  a  knowledge  of  which  might 
give  his  side  an  important  advantage  subsequently. 
I  have  been  blindfolded,  and  have  been  paroled, 
under  such  circumstances,  but  no  such  precaution 
was  taken  in  this  case.  It  was  therefore  my  patriotic  \ 
duty  to  observe  every  fact  calculated  to  advantage  ' 
my  government,  and  to  obtain  all  the  information 
any  one  would  give  me  while  on  this  side  the  lines. 

Signs  of  war  were  visible  on  every  side.  The 
fences  had  been  destroyed  by  our  men  as  they 
marched  and  bivouacked.  The  fields  were  tracked 
and  torn  by  artillery  or  army  wagons.  New  earth 
works  had  been  thrown  up  across  the  road,  and  at 
points  on  either  side,  since  our  forces  had  retired. 
Negroes  were  still  at  work  on  these  extra  defenses. 
Soldiers  were  on  duty  at  various  points,  and  officers 
were  busy  in  carrying  out  the  orders  of  their  com 
manders.  It  would  not  be  so  easy  as  before  for 
General  Foster  to  reach  Kinston,  if  he  should  now 
attempt  it,  expensive  as  was  his  first  advance. 


246         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

As  we  came  in  sight  of  Kinston,  across  the  Neuse 
River,  I  recognized  the  several  points  of  chief  in 
terest  on  this  side,  where  was  the  gallant  charge 
and  the  heavy  loss  of  the  regiment  I  loved.  Yonder 
was  where  so  many  of  our  men  went  down.  There 
was  the  little  Baptist  chapel,  within  and  behind 
which  sharpshooters  had  picked  off  officers  and 
men.  On  this  side  and  the  other  of  the  road  were 
the  houses  we  had  made  use  of  for  temporary  hos 
pitals.  It  was  nearer  the  bridge  where  I  had  buried 
our  officers.  I  had  carefully  noted  the  spot,  and 
thither  I  was  at  once  conducted. 

We  reached  the  place  about  four  o'clock.  I  was 
received  by  Colonel  Moore  and  Major  Bryan,  of 
General  Evans's  staff,  accompanied  by  Dr.  De  Fon 
taine,  formerly  a  correspondent  of  the  New  York 
Herald,  and  now  a  correspondent  of  the  Charleston 
Courier.  Colonel  Moore  had  been  prominent  as 
the  messenger  between  the  authorities  of  South 
Carolina  and  Major  Anderson  in  Fort  Sumter,  at 
the  breaking  out  of  the  war.  Both  he  and  Major 
Bryan  were  from  Charleston.  I  having  pointed 
out  the  graves  of  our  three  officers,  negroes  were 
directed  to  exhume  the  bodies,  while  I  stood  near. 

Meantime,  Confederate  officers  crowded  about 
to  see  and  hear  the  "  Yankee  chaplain  ;"  and  they 
plied  me  with  curious  questions,  or  made  comments 
on  recent  events  in  Virginia  or  North  Carolina.  A 
Major  McNeill  was  there.  He  had  been  a  secre 
tary  of  the  American  Bible  Society  in  New  York 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  247 

City  before  the  war.  He  and  I  had  many  friends 
in  common.  Although  a  clergyman,  he  was  now  a 
major  of  cavalry.  A  Captain  McClennahan  who 
was  there  had  been  in  General  McGruder's  division 
when,  at  Malvern  Hills,  it  had  charged  on  a  battery 
commanded  by  my  brother,  Major  Trumbull,  and 
been  repulsed  with  fearful  loss.  Dr.  De  Fontaine 
had  been  a  student  in  the  Yale  Medical  School  in 
1 857- 5 &  He,  also,  knew  many  of  my  friends  in 
Connecticut 

While  speaking  with  entire  freedom,  so  far  as  I 
could  do  so,  in  this  conversation,  I  did  not  hesitate 
to  decline  to  give  a  reply  when  I  felt  that  to  be  my 
duty.  There  was  no  lack  of  deferential  consider- 
ateness  on  either  side.  Only  a  single  incident 
broke  in  on  the  harmony  of  the  interview.  As  I 
stood  in  this  group,  an  officer  with  flushed  face  and 
excited  manner  came  up  from  a  distance,  and,  push 
ing  his  way  through  the  others,  spoke  defiantly  and 
profanely  of  the  "  Yankee  officer  "  and  the  "  Yankee 
nation."  At  once  he  was  rebuked  by  several  offi 
cers,  and  one  of  them  said  positively  : 

"This  chaplain  is  our  guest,  and  he  must  be 
treated  courteously." 

With  a  vindictive  glare  in  his  face,  the  excited 
officer  slunk  away.  The  next  time  I  saw  that  face 
was  the  year  following,  when  I  was  a  prisoner  in  a 
Charleston  hospital.  These  two  interviews  well- 
nigh  brought  me  to  the  gallows  on  the  charge  of 
being  a  spy.  But  I  had  little  thought  of  this  on 


248         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

that  December  day  in  Kinston.  It  is  in  my  mind 
now,  however,  when  I  recall  that  incident  and  that 
vindictive  look. 

It  was  after  dark  before  the  three  bodies  were  in 
their  coffins  and  the  ambulance  was  ready  with  its 
gruesome  burden.  Then  I  mounted  my  horse 
again,  and  was  on  my  way  down  the  New  Berne 
road,  in  the  care  of  Lieutenant  Hines  and  his 
cavalry  escort. 

It  was  a  chilly  December  evening.  I  had  not 
had  a  morsel  to  eat  since  leaving  the  place  of  my 
last  night's  sleep.  I  was  hungry  and  cold.  The 
day's  ride  had  been  tedious,  notwithstanding  the 
objects  of  interest  to  be  observed.  Ordinarily,  on  a 
march  with  my  own  command,  I  could  vary  the 
gait  of  my  horse,  and  quicken  my  blood,  by  an  oc 
casional  gallop,  in  going  to  the  advance  or  the  rear 
for  a  time,  and  returning  to  my  place  in  the 
column.  But  now  I  must  keep  constantly  by  the 
side  of  my  escorting  officer,  and  conform  my  pace 
to  his,  which  was  a  uniform  cavalry  slow  trot  or 
jog.  This  was  monotonously  tiresome,  as  we  kept 
on  hour  after  hour  at  the  rate  of  not  more  than 
three  miles  an  hour.  Now,  in  the  darkness,  it  was 
doubly  trying.  An  hour  had  at  least  a  hundred 
and  twenty  minutes  in  it,  and  I  wondered  if  the 
end  would  ever  come. 

Lieutenant  Hines  sent  one  of  his  men  on  in  ad 
vance  to  announce  our  coming  to  a  planter  whose 
house  was  on  the  road  about  six  or  seven  miles 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  249 

from  Kinston,  and  to  notify  the  planter  to  provide 
supper  and  lodging  for  our  party.  It  seemed  as  if 
we  should  never  reach  there  ;  but  at  last  the  lights 
of  the  plantation  house  were  seen  ahead,  and  then 
we  were  soon  before  its  entrance.  Light  seemed 
never  more  welcome  than  as  it  shone  through  the 
windows  and  out  of  the  open  door,  as  the  planter 
showed  himself  to  give  his  rough  but  hearty  wel 
come,  when  the  sound  of  our  horses'  hoofs  and  the 
clanking  of  the  cavalry  sabers  announced  our 
arrival  at  a  place  of  rest 

"  Glad  to  see  you,"  he  called  out,  "  even  though 
you  bring  a  cussed  Yankee  with  you.  Come  in, 
all  of  you.  Come  in." 

Inside  the  house,  in  the  principal  room,  a  table 
was  spread  which  was  more  than  tempting.  Light, 
warmth  from  a  blazing  fire,  steaming  food  on  the 
table,  all  were  attractive.  Before  we  sat  down  to 
supper,  the  planter  offered  "  apple  jack "  (cider 
brandy)  to  all.  He  appeared  surprised  that  I  de 
clined  it  As  he  passed  into  the  back  room,  he 
said,  with  a  peculiar  emphasis  : 

"Yank  don't  know  what's  good  for  him,  if  he 
won't  drink  this." 

I  noticed  a  look  of  meaning  in  his  eye,  as  he 
again  proffered  me  a  drink.  At  once  I  stepped 
toward  the  back  room  door,  and  said  : 

"  I  don't  care  for  any  apple  jack  ;  but  I  would 
like  a  drink  of  water,  if  you'll  be  kind  enough  to 
give  it  to  me." 


25°         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

He  went  at  once  to  a  bucket  of  water,  and, 
taking  out  a  dipperful,  he  handed  it  to  me  as  I 
came  into  the  rear  room.  He  pressed  my  arm  as  I 
took  the  dipper,  and  said  earnestly,  in  a  low  tone  : 

"  I've  got  to  cuss  you  while  these  fellows  are 
'round  ;  but  I'm  with  you,  heart  and  soul.  I'm  a 
Union  man  through  and  through." 

That  "cup  of  cold  water"  in  a  strange  land  re 
freshed  me.  It  improved  even  my  keen  appetite, 
as  I  sat  down  with  the  others  at  the  well-filled 
table.  There  were  roast  fresh  pork,  baked  sweet 
potatoes,  hot  corn-cake,  fresh  Southern  "beaten" 
biscuit,  and  "  Confederate  coffee,"  made  of  burnt 
and  ground  corn,  with  hot  milk  and  sugar,  very 
palatable  at  such  a  time  to  tired  and  hungry  guests. 

It  was  nearly  midnight  when  I  went  upstairs  to 
bed.  It  had  been  months  since  I  had  had  the 
luxury  of  a  bed  to  sleep  in.  The  best  bedroom  in 
the  house  was  assigned  to  me.  I  was  alone  in  it, 
although  a  cavalry  man  was  to  sleep  on  the  floor  in 
the  hallway  before  my  closed  door.  Hardly  had  I 
entered  my  room  when  my  host  appeared  through 
another  door,  and  greeted  me  with  heartful  earnest 
ness. 

He  told  of  the  widespread  Union  feeling  in  the 
state  among  soldiers  and  civilians.  He  said  that 
only  military  power  kept  it  down. 

"We're  worse  off  than  ever  the  nigger  slaves 
were,"  he  added. 

He  told  of  the  arrests  and  imprisonments  that 


Under  a  Flag  of  Truce  25 1 

followed  our  recent  military  advance  into  the  state. 
Many  had  been  sent  to  Salisbury  on  the  charge  of 
showing  sympathy  with  the  Union  army.  He 
wanted  to  do  anything  in  his  power  to  help  the 
Union  cause,  and  he  longed  for  the  triumph  of  the 
Federal  government.  He  asked  me  to  call  on  a 
nephew  of  his  in  New  Berne,  and  he  wished  me  to 
take  for  myself  a  fine  horse  which  was  now  in  the 
care  of  his  nephew. 

While  thanking  him  for  his  proffer,  I  declined  to 
accept  the  gift.  I  was  afraid,  for  his  sake,  that  his 
visit  to  my  room  might  be  discovered,  and  he  suffer 
harm,  and  I  urged  him  to  leave.  It  was  long  past 
midnight  when  he  finally  left  me.  As  to  his  earnest 
ness  and  sincerity  there  was  no  room  for  doubt. 
His  story  was  confirmed  when  I  was  again  in  New 
Berne ;  and  I  afterward  learned  that  he  was  soon 
arrested  and  shut  in  prison  for  his  discovered  Union 
sentiments. 

That  was  the  last  night  of  the  year  1862.  At 
midnight,  when  1863  was  ushered  in,  as  I  stood 
conversing  in  that  bedchamber  of  a  Union  planter 
of  the  South,  while  I  was  under  a  flag  of  truce 
within  the  enemy's  lines,  guarded  by  soldiers  of  the 
"Southern  Confederacy,"  the  New  Year  brought 
with  it  the  operation  of  President  Lincoln's  procla 
mation  of  emancipation  to  all  the  slaves  within  the 
bounds  of  that  Confederacy.  As  when  a  great  light 
shined  into  the  gloomy  prison  at  Jerusalem,  and  a 
messenger  of  God  wakened  Peter  from  his  sleep, 


252         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  his  chains  fell  off  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  while 
none  of  the  guards  were  alarmed  or  realized  the  oc 
currence,  a  great  light  now  shined  into  the  gloom 
of  the  Southern  bondman's  prison,  and  a  messenger 
of  God  told  him  that  he  was  a  slave  no  more.  The 
shackles  fell  at  one  stroke  from  four  millions  of 
bondmen,  and  the  agonizing  prayers  that  for  long 
years  had  gone  up  from  weary-hearted  fathers  and 
mothers  and  children  for  help  from  God,  according 
to  Daniel's  prophecy,  so  dear  to  them,  of  the  "king 
of  the  North's"  final  triumph  over  the  South,  were 
answered  in  God's  good  time  and  way. 

Like  many  another  great  historic  event,  the 
emancipation  of  the  slaves  came  without  observa 
tion  ;  but  it  is  looked  back  to  with  amazement  and 
gratitude.  That  night  is  a  night  to  be  much  ob 
served,  to  all  generations. 

After  a  night  of  refreshing  rest,  I  rose,  on  that 
New  Year's  morning,  and  started  again  with  the 
cavalry  escort.  We  rode  at  the  same  monotonous 
gait  some  twenty-five  miles,  displaying  a  flag  of 
truce  after  we  had  passed  the  line  of  Confederate 
pickets,  until  we  were  met  by  a  flag  of  truce  from 
our  lines,  on  the  watch  for  us.  Being  transferred  to 
the  new  escort,  I  proceeded  gladly  to  New  Berne, 
reaching  General  Foster's  headquarters  about  dark 
to  report  my  safe  return. 


CHAPTER  XI 

PRISON    EXPERIENCES 

To  die  in  battle,  falling  at  the  front  in  a  conflict 
worthy  of  one's  life  struggle,  seems  a  fitting  end  to 
a  soldier's  earthly  career.  A  Christian  soldier  can 
anticipate  that  with  a  measure  of  restful  satisfaction, 
and  his  loved  ones  can  look  back  upon  it  with  a 
sense  of  its  exalted  fitness.  But  to  be  disarmed 
and  held  a  captive,  and  to  languish  on  in  inactivity 
while  his  companions  continue  in  the  fight  to  which 
he  gave  himself  so  heartily,  is  a  fate  from  which  the 
soldier  mind  recoils,  and  which  he  who  loves  the 
soldier  cannot  contemplate  without  a  shudder. 

The  sufferings  and  endurances  of  prisoners  of 
war  form  a  dark  chapter  in  the  record  of  great 
military  operations  all  along  the  later  centuries,  and 
commanders  and  governments  are  often  more  se 
verely  criticised  for  their  treatment  of  soldier  pris 
oners  than  for  murderous  conduct  in  the  field  in 
the  most  relentless  warfare.  It  seems  to  many  that 
the  imprisonment  of  a  soldier  is  in  itself  unsol- 
dierly ;  while  but  few  are  ready  to  recognize  the 
fact  that  prisoners  of  war  are  a  mark  of  positive 
progress  in  humanity,  in  civilization,  and  in  a  rev- 

253 


254         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

erent  recognition  of  the  sacredness  of  life  and  of 
the  common  brotherhood  of  man. 

In  the  earlier  ages,  men  who  gave  deadly  battle 
to  one  another  were  supposed  to  yield,  in  that  veiy 
act,  their  ricrht  to  live  if  overborne  and  subdued. 

o 

In  those  days,  it  was  in  many  countries  supposed  to 
be  a  duty  of  the  conqueror  to  offer  the  lives  of 
those  captured  in  battle  in  sacrifice  to  the  god  in 
whose  name  he  went  out  to  war.  In  other  lands, 
again,  the  captives  were  deemed  the  property  pos 
session  of  the  captors,  to  be  made  use  of  as  slaves 
in  such  manner  as  would  best  meet  the  needs  of 
those  who  had  overborne  them.  It  was  only  after 
centuries  of  progress  that  the  idea  gained  a  place 
in  the  human  heart,  that  the  soldier  who  was  a 
captive  in  honorable  warfare  was  a  captive  only 
during  the  continuance  of  that  warfare,  and  was  en 
titled  to  his  life  and  to  its  protection  and  support 
by  his  captors  until  the  proper  time  for  his  honora 
ble  release  and  untrammeled  freedom.  Then  was 
the  beginning  of  the  peculiar  experiences  of  pris 
oners  of  war  as  we  now  understand  the  term. 

Prisoners  taken  in  the  earlier  engagements  of  our 
Civil  War  were  in  some  instances  paroled  and  re 
leased  on  the  battlefield  at  the  close  of  the  engage 
ment,  to  be  exchanged  and  set  free  for  renewed 
active  service  when  a  cartel  should  be  agreed  on 
for  such  exchanges.  In  other  cases  they  were  from 
the  first  held  as  prisoners  of  war,  in  jails  or  forts,  or 
other  buildings  set  apart  for  the  purpose,  on  the  one 


Prison  Experiences  255 

side  or  the  other,  while  awaiting  formal  exchange. 
Not  until  more  than  a  year  had  passed  was  a  cartel 
agreed  on  between  the  contending  authorities  for  a 
general  exchange  of  prisoners.  After  that  the  ex 
changes  were  for  a  time  comparatively  prompt  and 
regular.  Again,  there  were  occasional  interrup 
tions  to  the  operation  of  the  cartel  from  one  cause 
and  another.  During  the  last  year  of  the  war,  it 
was  in  accordance  with  the  policy  of  General  Grant 
to  send  back  no  soldiers  to  resume  fighting  in  the 
Confederate  army,  even  though  Union  soldiers 
could  be  secured  in  exchange.  Then  all  exchanges 
were  intermitted  ;  and  this  policy  inevitably  caused 
much  discomfort  and  suffering  on  both  sides,  as 
necessarily  incident  to  such  a  conflict  as  ours,  and 
as  a  part  of  the  great  cost  of  final  peace  and  order. 
The  Rev.  Hiram  Eddy,  chaplain  of  the  First 
Connecticut  Regiment,  was  taken  prisoner  in  the 
battle  of  Bull  Run,  or  Manassas,  and  confined  for 
eleven  months  in  what  was  known  as  the  "Tobacco 
Warehouse  Prison,"  in  Richmond.  Soon  after  his 
exchange  and  release,  I  was  appointed  to  the  chap 
laincy  of  the  Tenth  Connecticut  Regiment,  already 
in  the  field,  and  he  preached  the  sermon  at  my  or 
dination.  A  year  from  that  day  I  recalled  his  ser 
mon  from  my  quarters  as  a  prisoner  of  war  in 
Richland  Jail,  Columbia,  South  Carolina.  I  had 
already  had  experiences  as  a  prisoner  in  Charleston 
Jail,  and  I  was  subsequently  an  inmate  of  Libby 
Prison,  in  Richmond.  Some  of  my  experiences  in 


256         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

prison  life  are  as  vivid  as  any  recollections  of  camp 
or  campaigning  in  more  active  service,  and  they  go 
to  make  up  the  lights  and  shadows  of  a  chaplain's 
war  memories. 

It  was  on  Saturday  evening,  July  18,  1863,  that 
General  Gillmore  made  his  disastrous  assault  on 
Fort  Wagner,  at  the  entrance  to  Charleston  Harbor. 
The  next  day  the  dead,  and  many  of  the  wounded, 
lay  on  the  sand  plain  and  among  the  sand  hills  be 
tween  that  fort  and  the  outer  line  of  the  Union 
works,  then  held  by  our  brigade.  A  flag  of  truce 
arranged  for  a  cessation  of  hostilities,  in  order  to 
bury  the  dead  and  remove  the  wounded.  At  the 
suggestion  of  one  of  my  commanders,  I  went  out 
on  the  field  to  render  such  assistance  as  I  could  in 
the  line  of  ministry  to  the  wounded.  My  tent-mate 
and  intimate  friend,  Adjutant  Camp,  accompanied 
me.  As  we  were  moving  along  in  the  prosecution 
of  my  work,  we  were  met  by  a  Confederate  officer 
and  three  or  four  men  who  were  on  a  similar 
humane  mission.  The  officer  claimed  that  we  had 
passed  the  truce  line  agreed  on,  although  it  was  un 
marked,  between  the  two  forces,  and  that  we  were 
in  consequence  hi% prisoners.  When  we  protested 
against  being  thusr  held,  as  we  were  still  very  near 
our  works,  and  at  a  much  greater  distance  from  the 
enemy's,  we  were  assured  that  the  commanding 
general  would  not  wish  to  take  any  advantage  of 
an  unintentional  mistake  as  to  the  truce  line  at  such 
a  time,  but  that  we  must  be  detained  until  he 


Prison  Experiences  257 

authorized  our  return.     It  was  thus  that  I  came  to 
be  a  prisoner  of  war. 

While  awaiting  a  decision  in  our  case  from  Gen 
eral  Hagood,  in  command  on  the  island,  we  con 
versed  pleasantly  with  a  group  of  Confederate 
officers  who  gathered  about  us.  Among  these  was 
Captain  Thomas  Y.  Simons,  of  Charleston,  a  Yale 
graduate  of  the  class  of  1 847.  We  found  that  we 
had  a  number  of  friends  in  common  with  him,  and 
we  talked  freely  with  him  and  with  the  others  of 
the  causes  and  possible  outcome  of  the  great  con 
flict  in  progress.  He  was  an  original  secessionist, 
heartily  in  favor  of  disunion,  and  was  sure  that  the 
independence  of  the  South  was  the  predetermined 
and  only  possible  result  of  the  Civil  War. 

When  word  came  back  from  General  Hagood, 
referring  the  ultimate  decision  of  our  case  to  Gen 
eral  Ripley  at  Charleston,  we  were  led  up  the 
island.  Our  eyes  were  blindfolded  while  passing 
the  works  of  the  enemy,  so  that  we  should  not  have 
any  important  information  to  carry  back  in  case  of 
our  release.  As  the  armistice  was  now  at  an  end, 
there  was  a  resumption  of  picket-firing  on  both 
sides.  Led  along  by  an  enemy , in  utter  darkness, 
while  rifle-shots  were  heard  in  front  and  rear,  and 
an  occasional  bullet  whistled  inconveniently  near 
us,  it  was  not  a  pleasant  thought  that  we  might  be 
shot  in  the  back  by  our  friends,  without  the  satis 
faction  of  feeling  that  any  good  to  us  or  to  our 
cause  was  likely  to  come  of  it  Reaching  Cum- 


258         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

mings  Point,  we  rested  for  several  hours,  with  the 
privilege  of  looking  about  us. 

Here  was  the  battery  which  had  played  so  im 
portant  a  part  in  the  original  bombardment  of  Fort 
Sumter,  and  which  again  had  poured  its  destruc 
tive  flank  fire  on  our  assaulting  column  on  the 
recent  Saturday  night.  Left  to  ourselves  we  for 
the  first  time  had  an  opportunity  to  think  over  our 
unfortunate  position  as  prisoners  of  war.  It  was 
hard  to  realize  that  we  were  out  of  the  great  strug 
gle  for  a  season,  and  harder  yet  to  realize  all  that 
prison  life  would  bring  to  us.  The  enforced  quiet 
and  inaction  were  worse  than  our  severest  conflicts 
and  struggles  in  active  service.  We  were  fairly 
bewildered  by  the  unexpected  change  in  affairs. 
It  seemed  like  a  fearful  dream,  yet  we  knew  it  was 
not. 

Just  after  dark  we  were  taken  on  board  a  small 
steamer,  on  which  were  many  of  our  wounded  in 
the  recent  fight,  together  with  sound  enlisted  men, 
both  black  and  white,  who  were  also  prisoners. 
On  our  way  up  to  Charleston  we  stopped  at  the 
sally-port  of  Fort  Sumter,  through  which  Major 
Anderson  and  his  command  had  passed  out  after 
the  opening  conflict  of  the  war.  We  realized,  even 
then,  the  historic  associations  and  profound  impres- 
siveness  of  that  spot.  I  think  we  were  the  last 
Union  officers  who  were  there  before  the  army  and 
navy  bombardment  reduced  the  imposing  fortress 
to  a  shapeless  ruin,  without,  however,  destroying 


Prison  Experiences  259 

its  value  as  a  fortification.  A  way  for  our  steamer 
was  opened,  from  that  point,  through  the  chain  of 
obstructions  across  the  entrance  of  the  harbor,  and 
we  proceeded  to  Charleston. 

We  were  led  through  the  lighted  streets  of  the 
city,  whites  and  blacks  together,  while  the  citizens 
looked  on  and  jeered  and  derided.  The  battle  of 
Fort  Wagner  was  the  first  one  in  which  negro  sol 
diers  were  taken  prisoners,  and  the  feeling  against 
the  employing  of  such  troops  was  strong  and  bitter 
in  the  South.  The  Yankees  and  the  negro  soldiers 
now  marched  through  the  streets  of  Charleston 
represented  everything  that  was  most  hateful  to 
the  Southern  mind.  It  is  easy  to  say,  in  one's 
home  or  among  friends,  that  one  has  no  care  for 
adverse  public  criticism  if  only  he  knows  he  is 
right ;  but  in  practical  experience  it  is  not  a  pleas 
ant  thing  to  be  in  a  community,  or  in  a  crowd, 
where  every  looker-on  has  a  feeling  of  hatred  or 
of  contempt  because  of  one's  conduct  or  one's 
associations.  It  was  not  a  pleasant  march,  that 
evening,  through  the  streets  of  Charleston  from 
the  steamer  landing  to  the  provost-marshal's,  and 
thence  to  the  jail,  nor  were  we  in  a  mood  for  its 
enjoyment. 

About  ten  at  night  we  were  passed  through  the 
gloomy  portals  of  the  Charleston  jail,  and  taken  to 
a  small  room  for  confinement.  We  were  told  that 
by  special  orders  we  two  white  officers  were  to  be 
shut  for  the  night  in  the  same  room  with  the 


260         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

enlisted  men,  white  and  black.  As  this  was  con 
trary  to  the  usual  custom  with  prisoners  of  war, 
and  as  other  Union  officers  were  in  another  room 
in  the  building,  we  saw  that  this  was  intended  as  a 
humiliation,  against  which  it  was  useless  to  protest. 
The  physical  discomforts  of  the  place  were,  how 
ever,  the  chief  annoyance  of  that  night. 

For  months  we  had  lived  in  the  open  air,  often 
without  even  the  shelter  of  a  tent.  This  was  the 
month  of  July,  in  the  heat  of  a  Southern  summer. 
Brought  at  once  from  the  freedom  of  the  field  to 
the  confinement  of  a  gloomy  city  prison,  shut,  in 
dense  darkness,  within  the  close  walls  of  a  small 
room,  which  lacked  even  window  space  for  suffi 
cient  ventilation,  and  which  was  closed  by  an 
oaken  door  outside  of  the  iron  grating  which  was 
its  ordinary  door ;  packed  among  so  many  prison 
ers  that  there  was  not  room  for  all  to  stretch  them 
selves  at  length  on  the  bare  floor, — we  found  the 
foul  air  of  that  place  stifling  to  the  verge  of  suffo 
cation,  and  our  first  night  in  prison  was  a  night  to 
be  remembered  for  all  time  in  our  soldier  experi 
ences.  But,  as  the  soldiers  were  accustomed  to 
say  about  every  new  trial  in  army  life,  "  It's  all  in 
the  three  years ;"  and  we  lived  through  that  dark 
night,  and  the  morning  came  at  its  end.  Early  the 
next  day  we  two  officers  were  removed  to  the 
room  in  which  other  Union  officers  taken  on  Mor 
ris  Island,  in  the  two  assaults  on  the  Confederate 
works  there,  were  confined.  We  talked  over  with 


Prison  Experiences  261 

them  our  mutual  experiences,  and  we  condoled 
together  over  our  common  misfortune. 

It  seemed  to  us  at  the  time  that  our  companions 
who  were  killed  in  the  assault,  and  now  lay  in 
death  on  the  Morris  Island  sands,  were  more 
favored  in  the  issue  than  we  who  were  denied  that 
repose,  and  condemned  to  imprisonment  in  the 
enemy's  land.  It  was,  therefore,  with  a  new  sense 
of  their  force,  that  I  read,  from  my  pocket  Bible, 
in  the  passage  which  was  my  reading  for  that  day, 
the  words  of  Jeremiah  22 :  10,  "  Weep  ye  not  for 
the  dead,  neither  bemoan  him ;  but  weep  sore  for 
him  that  goeth  away :  for  he  shall  return  no  more, 
nor  see  his  native  country."  Yet  we  had  hope,  at 
the  first,  that  we  should  soon  be  exchanged,  and 
returned  to  our  command.  The  fact  that  there 
were  to  be  no  assured  exchanges  for  months  or 
years,  would  have  been  too  terrible  a  thought  to 
face  at  the  outset ;  therefore  we  lived  on  in  hope 
in  our  dark  lot. 

Soon  we  were  summoned  to  the  jailer's  office, 
for  examination  by  an  aide  of  General  Beauregard. 
He  examined  us  separately  with  the  purpose  of 
obtaining  information  as  to  the  force  and  plans  of 
the  army  operating  against  Charleston.  Of  course, 
he  had  a  right  to  know  our  name,  rank,  regiment 
or  battalion,  brigade,  division,  corps,  and  com 
mander.  Possessing  this  information,  he  could 
infer,  from  the  various  commands  represented, 
much  concerning  the  force  in  action.  He  could, 


262         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

however,  seek  by  questions  to  obtain  knowledge 
to  which  he  was  not  entitled,  and  a  prisoner  must 
be  on  his  guard,  while  being  examined,  lest  he 
should  disclose  too  much  to  the  enemy. 

Talking  over,  afterwards,  our  special  experiences 
under  our  examiner,  we  learned  something  of  the 
ways  of  meeting  an  enemy's  searching  questions. 
One  of  our  officers  answered  readily  the  usual 
questions  concerning  his  name,  rank,  command, 
and  commander;  but  when  suddenly  asked  what 
was  the  present  strength  of  the  force  on  Morris 
Island,  he  responded  quietly,  "  Two  and  a  half  mil 
lions."  Asked  by  his  startled  questioner  if  he  was 
speaking  the  truth,  he  responded  by  asking  if  his 
questioner  expected  him  to  tell  the  truth  in  answer 
to  such  a  question.  This  was  a  polite  way  of  in 
forming  his  enemy  that  he  could  not  be  drawn  into 
the  disclosure  of  information  to  which  the  other 
had  no  right 

This  going  as  a  prisoner  before  one's  captors 
was  sometimes  a  critical  matter, — at  least  in  the 
thought  of  the  prisoner.  At  the  time  of  the  Fort 
Wagner  affair,  colored  soldiers  and  their  white 
officers  were  in  a  peculiar  position.  A  proclama 
tion  of  President  Davis  of  the  Confederate  govern 
ment  declared  that  negroes  taken  in  arms  would 
be  executed,  and  that  a  white  officer  captured  in 
command  cf  such  soldiers  would  be  denied  the 
treatment  of  an  ordinary  prisoner  of  war.  Hence 
the  colored  soldiers  and  their  officers  in  jail  with 


Prison  Experiences  263 

me  were  still  in  doubt  as  to  their  treatment.  It 
may  be  said,  however,  that  none  of  the  threats  of 
exceptional  severity  were  carried  out  by  the  Con 
federate  authorities  ;  but  at  this  time  the  prisoners 
could  not  but  be  anxious.  It  was  about  this  time 
that  an  officer  of  a  colored  regiment  recruited  in 
the  vicinity  of  New  Orleans,  was  taken  prisoner. 
Coming  with  other  officers  before  a  Confederate 
official  to  be  examined,  he  was  asked  the  name  of 
his  regiment.  He  gave  the  name  as  the  "  First 
Louisiana  Corps  d'Afrique,"  realizing  that  he  newly 
periled  his  life  by  the  answer. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  the  official. 

"  That's  a  '  nigger  regiment,'  as  you  call  it,"  was 
the  heroic  reply. 

It  was  a  soldierly  answer  by  a  soldier  to  a  soldier, 
and  no  harm  came  of  it  to  either.  Yet  it  required 
courage  to  speak  the  truth  in  such  an  emergency. 

Before  many  hours  had  passed,  an  order  came 
from  General  Beauregard's  headquarters  directing 
me  to  report  at  the  provost-marshal's  for  parole, 
and  for  service  among  the  wounded  Union  soldiers 
in  the  "Yankee  Hospital."  Nineteen  of  our  en 
listed  men  were  to  accompany  me.  At  the  provost- 
marshal's  I  signed  a  parole,  by  which  I  agreed  not 
to  attempt  to  escape  while  on  this  duty,  and  to 
obey  meanwhile  the  orders  of  the  surgeons  in 
charge.  Thus  a  new  phase  of  prison  life  opened 
before  me. 

Wounded  Union  soldiers,  from  the  fight  of  Satur- 


264         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

day  night  on  Morris  Island,  falling  into  the  hands 
of  the  enemy  after  the  repulse  of  the  assault,  and 
brought  on  Sunday  evening  and  Monday  morning 
to  Charleston,  were  together  in  a  large  four-story 
brick  building  on  Queen  Street,  to  which  I  was 
conveyed.  This  building  was  said  to  have  been 
originally  a  private  dwelling,  then  a  grain  ware 
house,  and  for  a  time  a  slave  mart,  before  its  use  as 
a  prison  hospital.  It  was  well  suited  in  size  and 
structure  for  its  present  purpose. 

What  a  sight  met  my  eye  as  I  entered  that 
building !  Our  wounded  men,  shot  on  Saturday 
night,  had,  many  of  them,  lain  where  they  fell 
until  the  next  day,  exposed  to  the  trampling  of  our 
retreating  soldiers,  and  to  flying  sand  half  burying 
them  by  bursting  shell,  some  indeed  being  again 
wounded  by  the  enemy's  rifles  as  they  lay  on  the 
field.  Taken  into  Fort  Wagner  during  the  day  on 
Sunday,  they  had  passed  Sunday  night  on  the  little 
steamer  at  the  dock  and  on  Monday  were  brought 
to  this  "  Yankee "  hospital.  One  hundred  and 
sixty-three  of  them  were  here.  As  they  were 
brought  in,  they  were  laid  in  rows  on  straw  on  the 
floor  of  the  long  lower  room.  Their  blood-matted 
hair  and  beards,  and  their  blood-saturated  clothing, 
marked  their  need  of  care  that  could  not  yet  be 
given  them.  In  the  yard  of  the  building  back  of 
this  room  were  six  operating-tables,  at  which  a 
force  of  busy  surgeons  was  constantly  at  work. 
The  severely  wounded  were  taken,  one  by  one, 


Prison  Experiences  265 

from  their  resting-place  on  the  straw  to  those  sur 
geons'  tables,  where  they  were  examined  and 
operated  on.  After  this  treatment  they  were  re 
moved  to  hospital  cots  on  the  upper  floors. 

The  Confederate  surgeons  did  everything  in 
their  power,  with  the  means  at  their  command,  for 
the  safety  and  comfort  of  the  wounded  Union 
soldiers,  both  white  and  black.  Sisters  of  Mercy 
were  unceasing  in  loving  ministry  to  the  poor  men, 
and  Bishop  Lynch  was  much  of  the  time  present, 
directing  and  aiding  in  their  work.  Yet  at  the  best 
the  lot  of  a  Union  soldier  there,  wounded  and  a 
prisoner,  with  the  blood  yet  unwashed  from  his 
wounds  two  days  after  he  fell  in  an  unsuccessful 
assault,  heartsick  and  homesick,  suffering  from 
fierce  wound-thirst  in  the  July  heat,  with  not  a 
friend  to  whisper  a  word  of  sympathy,  or  to  proffer 
relief,  facing  death,  or  a  prolonged  imprisonment 
that  seemed  even  worse  than  death,  was  a  pitiable 
lot  for  any  man.  As,  with  the  approval  of  the 
surgeons,  I  went  from  man  to  man,  "  to  pour  water 
on  him  that  was  thirsty,"  and  to  speak  words  of 
hope  and  cheer  to  the  despondent,  announcing  that 
I  too  was  a  Union  prisoner,  while  also  an  army 
chaplain,  I  was  sure  of  a  glad  welcome;  and  as 
I  took  dying  messages  from  those  prisoners  to 
their  home  loved  ones,  or  knelt  by  them  in  prayer 
and  in  counsel,  I  knew  that  I  was  a  means  of  com 
fort  to  the  needy,  and  I  thanked  God  for  the  privi 
lege. 


266         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

More  than  fifty  amputations  were  made  on  those 
surgeons'  tables  that  first  day,  and  as  many  more 
were  planned  for  the  day  following.  Men  were 
sinking  from  the  shock  of  the  operation,  or  from 
their  original  wounds,  and  closing  their  eyes  to 
earth,  as  the  hours  passed  by  in  my  chaplain's 
ministry  there.  There  were  sad  death  scenes,  and 
soul-harrowing  interviews  with  the  dying.  It  was 
hard  for  me  to  take  time  for  even  a  brief  nap,  when, 
far  into  the  night,  with  overstrained  nerves  and 
exhausted  strength,  I  lay  down  on  a  bench  to  try 
to  gain,  in  sleep,  strength  enough  for  further  work. 
And  the  early  morning  waking  was  worse  than  the 
troubled  sleeping. 

Many  outsiders  from  the  city  came  into  that 
prison  hospital  to  witness  the  sad  scenes  enacted 
there.  It  was  in  my  second  day's  ministry,  while 
I  was  bending  over  a  poor  sufferer  on  a  cot  on  the 
second  floor,  that  a  voice  near  me  jarred  on  my 
ear  with  peculiar  force,  awakening  unpleasant 
memories.  Looking  up,  I  saw,  on  a  visiting  officer, 
a  face  which  I  had  last  seen  while  on  a  flag  of 
truce  in  North  Carolina  the  year  before.  Only 
one  officer  had  then  treated  me  with  discourtesy, 
or  spoken  with  bitterness  of  his  enemies.  His 
commanding  officer  then  promptly  rebuked  him 
for  his  rudeness,  and  he  turned  away  with  a  vin 
dictive  look.  It  was  his  face  that  now  confronted 
me.  It  was  evident,  by  his  start,  that  he  recog 
nized  me  instantly. 


Prison  Experiences  267 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said,  "  we  have  met  before." 

"  At  Kinston,"  I  responded. 

"  And  you  are  the  chaplain  of" — 

"  The  Tenth  Connecticut." 

"  Yes,  yes,  yes  !  " 

He  turned  away  with  the  old  threatening  look. 
I  went  on  in  my  work  of  ministry.  A  little  later, 
as  I  was  talking  tenderly  with  a  dear  dying  lad,  I 
was  tapped  on  the  shoulder  and  ordered  to  follow 
my  guide.  Going  out  at  the  main  entrance  below, 
I  was  taken  in  charge  by  a  file  of  soldiers,  under 
an  aide  of  General  Beauregard,  and  told  that  I  was 
remanded  to  jail.  The  officer  in  charge  spoke  to 
me  in  a  tone  of  pity  akin  to  tenderness.  As  I 
marched  through  the  streets  of  Charleston,  I  heard 
cheers  over  the  news  of  the  terrible  draft  riots  in 
New  York  City.  This  was  not  in  itself  inspiriting 
to  a  Union  prisoner.  As  the  jailer  received  me  at 
the  jail  door  he  also  spoke  pityingly,  as  if  he  antici 
pated  the  worst  for  me.  I  could  not  understand 
the  new  state  of  things. 

My  friend  Adjutant  Camp  and  the  other  Union 
officers  had  been  sent  to  Columbia,  and  I  found  in 
the  corridor  of  the  jail  only  those  who  were  under 
special  charges,  or  who  were  criminals  under 
South  Carolina  laws.  Those  who  took  any  notice 
of  me  showed  the  kindlier  side  of  human  nature, 
even  though  they  could  not  give  me  real  sympathy. 
There  was  one  man,  a  notorious  forger,  swindler, 
and  confidence  man  generally,  who  seemed  to  be 


268         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

recognized  as  a  privileged  character,  a  sort  of 
"  Father  of  the  Marshalsea."  Genteel  in  appear 
ance,  with  well-brushed  gray  hair  and  rusty-black 
silk  hat,  pleasing  in  address,  yet  with  a  sinister 
look  in  his  keen  evasive  eyes  which  forbade  con 
fidence,  he  greeted  me  with  an  air  half  patroniz 
ing  and  half  deferential,  expressed  regret  for  my 
misfortunes,  and  speaking  mysteriously  of  a  certain 
connection  he  had  with  supposed  sources  of  influ 
ence  and  power,  he  made,  as  it  were,  a  call  of  intro 
duction,  and  fell  back  into  the  crowd  with  an  inti 
mation  that  he  should  see  me  again. 

Before  I  had  time  to  consider  well  my  situation, 
I  was  told  that,  by  special  order  from  General 
Beauregard's  office,  I  was  to  be  put  in  solitary  con 
finement,  but  no  intimation  was  given  to  me  of  the 
reason  for  this.  I  was  led  to  a  small  room,  open 
ing  out  from  this  corridor,  without  furniture,  even 
a  bedstead,  a  bench,  or  a  stool,  and  there  was  shut 
in  by  a  heavy  oaken  door  closing  over  an  iron 
grating.  Then  for  the  first  time  I  realized  how 
much  more  intolerable  than  the  worst  companion 
ship,  and  how  much  worse  than  any  form  of  active 
toil  or  endurance,  is  solitary  imprisonment  without 
occupation. 

I  tried  to  think,  but  my  brain  whirled  so  that 
consecutive  thought  was  an  impossibility.  I  tried 
to  read  from  my  pocket  Bible,  but  my  mind  could 
not  confine  itself  to  a  series  of  printed  words.  I 
tried  to  pray,  but  intelligible  prayer  was  beyond 


Prison  Experiences  269 

my  power.  I  tried  to  walk  across  my  cell  times 
enough  to  measure  a  mile,  but  a  half  dozen  times 
the  length  of  the  room  was  all  I  could  compass. 
I  tried  to  compose  myself  to  sleep  on  the  stone 
floor,  and  I  lay  in  a  restless  nightmare  agony  until 
I  could  continue  in  that  position  no  longer,  but 
when  I  looked  at  my  watch  I  found  that  only 
twelve  minutes  had  passed  since  I  lay  down.  This 
fearful  solitude  and  inaction  in  sharp  and  sudden 
contrast  with  the  busy  and  intense  activities  among 
the  living  and  the  dying  in  the  outside  clashing 
world,  from  which  I  had  been  jumped  while  every 
nerve  was  keyed  up  to  its  highest  possible  tension, 
was  too  much  for  a  man  of  my  intense  and  nervous 
nature. 

I  was  like  a  locomotive  steamed  up,  and  its 
machinery  working  with  the  power  to  drive  a 
loaded  train  at  seventy  miles  an  hour,  suddenly 
coming  to  a  wet  track  without  the  possibility  of  a 
forward  move.  Its  machinery  would  whirl  and 
whiz,  and  tear  itself  to  pieces,  with  the  motive 
force  that  could  not  stop  generating,  and  could  not 
find  its  use  or  vent  It  was  terrible,  terrible !  No 
former  trial  to  which  I  had  been  subjected  was  to 
be  compared  with  it. 

Suffering  from  thirst  in  the  close  hot  jail,  I  had 
asked  the  turnkey  for  water  as  he  came  to  shut  me 
in  that  solitary  room.  He  gave  me  a  small  tin  pail 
of  it.  Taking  only  a  scanty  drink,  I  set  the  pail 
on  the  floor  that  I  might  have  it  at  hand  for  greater 


270         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

need.  Soon  after,  I  found  it  was  a  leaky  vessel, 
and  that  its  precious  contents  were  already  gone. 
I  was  refused  another  drink  until  the  next  day, 
when,  about  noon,  water  was  brought  me  in  an  old 
whisky-bottle.  My  most  substantial  meal  of  that 
second  day  was  when  a  slave  prisoner,  accompany 
ing  the  turnkey,  appeared  at  my  door  with  a  bucket 
of  coarse  soup  containing  beef  and  rice,  and  an 
other  bucket  of  Indian  corn-meal  mush.  I  was 
told  to  take  my  rations,  but  I  had  neither  bowl, 
pitcher,  nor  plate.  On  my  asking  what  I  should 
take  them  in,  the  turnkey  said,  with  an  oath,  that 
he  didn't  know  nor  care.  The  negro  slave,  seeing 
my  plight,  set  down  the  buckets  and  ran  to  the 
courtyard  below,  where  he  found  a  broken,  dirt- 
begrimed  pitcher,  into  which  was  poured  a  ladleful 
of  mush,  and  over  it  a  ladleful  of  soup  and  meat. 
I  was  left  to  eat  this  with  my  fingers,  which  I  did 
most  gratefully. 

It  seems  to  me  that  I  should  have  sunk  under 
the  trials  of  this  solitary  imprisonment,  if  I  had  not 
been  relieved  by  an  occasional  removal  for  another 
examination.  First  I  was  taken  out  under  guard 
to  General  Beauregard's  office,  for  close  question 
ing.  Again  remanded  to  jail,  I  was  once  more 
taken  out,  and  led  to  the  provost-marshal's  office, 
thence  to  the  "Yankee  Hospital,"  and  thence  again 
to  General  Beauregard's,  where  I  was  renewedly 
examined  by  his  chief  of  staff,  General  Thomas 
Jordan.  No  direct  intimation  was  given  to  me,  in 


Prison  Experiences  271 

any  of  these  examinations,  as  to  the  reason  for  my 
treatment,  yet  I  suspected,  from  remarks  which 
were  dropped  by  others,  that  I  was  looked  at  as 
one  who  was  likely  to  be  executed. 

Long  afterwards  I  ascertained  that  word  had 
come  to  General  Beauregard  from  the  "Yankee 
Hospital "  that  I  was  recognized  as  a  probable  spy 
by  one  who  had  seen  me  at  Kinston  on  a  flag  of 
truce  the  year  before.  I  later  found  an  account  of 
this  in  the  Charleston  Courier.  In  the  excited 
state  of  the  public  mind  just  then,  I  was  quickly 
arrested,  and  might  have  been  quickly  disposed  of, 
without  due  examination,  if  my  release  had  not 
just  then  been  demanded  by  a  flag  of  truce  from 
General  Gillmore,  at  the  request  of  General  Terry, 
on  the  ground  of  my  unfair  detention.  This  made 
me  a  subject  of  negotiation,  and  it  became  neces 
sary  to  have  proof  that  I  was  not  what  I  claimed 
to  be,  before  extreme  measures  were  adopted  by 
my  captors.  Therefore  these  repeated  examina 
tions  were  made  in  search  of  incriminating  evi 
dence. 

At  the  time,  these  examinations  were  a  relief 
to  me.  Even  the  gallows  would  have  seemed 
preferable,  for  a  change,  to  that  fearful  confinement 
— alone  and  in  inaction.  When  taken  back  to  the 
jail  after  the  last  questioning,  I  was  put  into  an 
other  room  with  only  an  iron  grating  for  a  door, 
so  that  I  could  see  and  converse  with  those  in  the 
corridor  beyond.  It  seemed  good  to  speak  again 


272         War  Memories  of  a  CJiaplain 

to  a  fellow-man,  even  the  poorest  specimen  of  his 
kind,  as  when  a  prisoner  came  to  the  grating  and 
told,  as  he  talked,  of  a  cold-blooded  murder  he 
had  committed,  for  which  he  would  probably  be 
hanged.  When,  indeed,  just  after  this,  a  young 
naval  surgeon  (who  had  been  captured  much  as  I 
was,  while  seeking  to  help  the  wounded  on  Morris 
Island,  and  who  had  been  with  me  in  the  "Yankee 
Hospital ")  was  brought  to  my  new  quarters  as  a 
room-mate,  the  feeling  of  relief  in  fellowship  was 
positive  and  refreshing ;  and  as,  the  day  following, 
we  learned  that  we  were  actually  to  be  forwarded 
to  Columbia  to  rejoin  our  fellow  Union  prisoners, 
including  my  friend  Adjutant  Camp,  I  felt  that 
life  was  no  longer  a  burden,  and  that  the  gallows 
would  not  be  preferable  to  confinement  in  a  South 
ern  military  prison.  Comfort  is  a  relative  term, 
after  all.  Contentment  depends  not  so  much  on 
what  we  have,  as  upon  what  we  are,  and  the  light 
in  which  we  see  our  possessions. 

From  Charleston  we  were  taken  by  a  night  train 
to  Columbia.  We  were  in  a  comfortable  first-class 
car,  with  our  accompanying  guard.  We  slept  and 
waked  by  turns  as  we  rode,  with  an  occasional 
glimpse  of  some  peculiarly  Southern  sight  of  those 
war-time  days.  At  Branchville,  an  important  junc 
tion,  where  we  made  quite  a  stop,  lunch-tables  in 
the  open  air  were  along  the  station  platform,  at 
which  negro  "  mammies  "  were  selling  "  snacks  " 
of  fried  chicken  and  corn-cakes,  with  hot  rye 


Prison  Experiences  273 

coffee,  to  Confederate  soldiers,  who  were  the  only 
white  men  we  saw  on  the  route,  while  blazing 
torches  of  "  light  wood "  (pieces  of  dense  pitch 
pine),  swung  by  negro  men,  or  piled  on  standing 
mortar-boards  on  the  platform,  cast  their  weird 
glare  over  the  picturesque  scene,  sending  their 
clouds  of  smoke  outward  and  upward  as  a  reliev 
ing  background. 

Reaching  Columbia  in  the  early  morning,  we 
were  taken  to  the  office  of  Colonel  Preston,  the 
post  commandant,  where  we  waited  for  his  repre 
sentative  to  appear.  On  the  arrival  of  the  adjutant, 
he  received  us  as  prisoners  from  the  Charleston 
guard,  and  we  were  taken  to  Richland  Jail  for  con 
finement.  It  is  not  often  that  going  to  jail  is  a  joy 
to  a  soldier ;  but,  in  view  of  my  Charleston  experi 
ences  in  solitary  confinement,  it  was  with  a  glad 
heart  that  I  passed  the  doors  of  the  jail  in  Columbia, 
and  found  myself  once  more  in  the  companionship 
of  my  friend  Adjutant  Camp,  and  his  fellow  Union 
officers. 

Prison  life  in  Columbia  was  more  tolerable  than 
prison  life  in  Charleston,  although  it  was  still 
prison  life,  and  therefore  hard  for  a  soldier  in  war 
time.  The  jail  itself  was  more  like  a  large  private 
dwelling  than  like  a  fortress.  It  was  near  the 
center  of  the  city,  on  one  of  the  principal  streets, 
close  by  the  Town  Hall,  underneath  which  was  the 
city  market.  The  jail  windows  were  iron-barred, 
but  light  and  air  had  free  ingress,  and  it  was 


274         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

pleasant  for  us  to  watch  the  signs  of  life  outside, 
day  by  day. 

A  central  passageway  from  front  to  rear  divided 
the  six  rooms  on  the  lower  floor.  Back  of  the  jail 
was  an  open  yard,  with  rude  barrack  structures, — 
on  the  one  hand  for  laundry  work  and  storage,  and 
on  the  other  hand  for  extra  prisoners  in  an  emer 
gency.  Beyond  this  was  a  large  printing  and  litho 
graphic  establishment,  in  which  were  prepared  the 
treasury  notes  of  the  Confederate  government,  and 
through  the  windows  of  which  were  to  be  seen 
bright-faced  young  women  at  work.  Sentries  paced 
their  beat  on  all  sides  of  the  jail  building,  day  and 
night.  Two  connecting  rooms  on  one  side  of  the 
lower  floor  were  occupied  by  our  Union  army 
officers  at  the  time  I  entered.  In  the  third  room 
on  that  side,  at  the  rear,  were  Confederate  pris 
oners,  conscript  deserters,  and  others  under  special 
charges.  Across  the  hall  from  our  rooms  there 
was  a  small  room  near  the  front,  in  which  was  a 
Union  officer  from  Tennessee,  under  suspended 
death  sentence  as  a  deserter  from  the  Confederate 
army.  He  was  watched  day  and  night  by  a  soldier 
chained,  or  secured,  to  him,  so  as  to  preclude  all 
possibility  of  escape.  The  back  room  on  the  same 
side  was  at  that  time  used  as  quarters  for  the 
prison  guard.  The  middle  room  was  just  then 
vacant,  but  it  was  subsequently  occupied  by  naval 
officers  captured  in  Admiral  Dahlgren's  unsuccess 
ful  assault  on  Fort  Sumter. 


Prison  Experiences  275 

On  the  second  floor  of  the  jail  were  confined  for 
a  time  a  hundred  and  more  of  our  enlisted  men, 
taken  prisoners  on  Morris  Island,  and  in  another 
room  various  Confederate  prisoners.  Enlisted  men 
of  the  navy,  captured  in  the  assault  on  Fort  Sumter, 
were,  when  brought  in,  assigned  to  the  barrack 
buildings  in  the  back  yard. 

The  only  furniture  in  our  two  rooms  was  a  rude 
two-story  bedstead,  or  pair  of  berths,  looking  like 
one  plain  table  set  on  top  of  another,  capable  of 
holding  eight  officers ;  also  a  long  pine  table,  on 
which  three  more  officers  could  stretch  themselves 
at  night.  The  other  officers  slept  on  the  floor, 
with  such  covering  as  they  could  obtain  from  out 
side.  If  we  had  money,  as  some  of  us  had,  we 
could  purchase  little  conveniences  through  officers 
of  the  guard.  Adjutant  Camp  and  I  purchased  a 
bed-tick  of  common  brown  sheeting,  and  had  it 
filled  with  dry  pine  needles ;  also  a  similar  pillow 
case  filled  with  corn-husks.  An  officer  of  the 
guard  loaned  us  a  blanket.  This  fitted  us  out  very 
comfortably  for  the  night,  and  the  bed,  when  rolled 
up,  was  a  good  seat  by  day. 

On  the  tower  of  the  Town  Hall  near  us  was  an 
iron-railed  balcony,  just  below  the  clock  face, 
where  a  vigilant  lookout  paced  his  nightly  rounds. 
At  8.45  the  curfew  bell  was  rung  vigorously  as  a 
signal  for  the  housing  of  negro  slaves  all  over  the 
city,  and  the  making  ready  for  the  night.  Fifteen 
minutes  later,  when  the  clock  had  ceased  its  strokes 


276         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

of  nine,  the  watchman's  voice  rang  out  in  a  peculiar 
tone  that  could  be  heard  afar  in  the  stilly  night : 

"  Pa-ast  ni-i-ne  o'-clock  !  " 

At  9.15  his  encouraging  cry  in  the  same  tone 
was : 

"All-swe-ell!" 

At  the  half-hour  his  cry  was  as  at  the  full  hour, 
and  at  the  third  quarter  as  at  the  first  This  con 
tinued  through  the  night.  It  was  a  pleasant  sur 
vival  of  the  old  English  custom,  which  had  its 
attractions  because  of  its  suggestion  of  watchful 
ness.  If  the  Southern  air  had  been  cooler  in  July 
and  August,  and  mosquitoes  and  vermin  had  been 
fewer  and  less  active,  we  might  have  slept  com 
posedly  on  our  prison-floor  bed. 

Daily  rations  were  furnished  us  of  beef  or  ham, 
and  corn-meal  and  rice.  These  we  must  cook  or 
have  cooked  for  ourselves,  and,  if  we  desired  any 
thing  more,  we  could  purchase  it  at  our  own  cost. 
Slave  women  were  coming  and  going,  in  the  early 
morning,  in  the  vicinity  of  the  market,  with  supplies 
of  fruit  and  vegetables,  and  coffee  and  its  substi 
tutes  ;  and  from  them  we  could  purchase  what  we 
would,  with  the  permission  of  our  guard.  We  em 
ployed  a  slave  woman  to  cook  for  our  officers' 
mess.  After  several  experiments  in  this  line,  we 
settled  down  on  "  Old  Maggie,"  a  typical  Southern 
mammy.  She  was  perhaps  seventy  years  old,  a 
gray-haired,  yellow-skinned,  wrinkled  granny,  bare 
footed,  and  wearing  a  red-and-white  checked  turban, 


Prison  Experiences  277 

and  a  scant-skirted  homespun  gown.  Quite  short, 
very  thin,  active,  and  animated,  she  was  efficient 
and  determined,  and  served  us  faithfully.  She  had 
had  sixteen  children,  and  grandchildren  and  great 
grandchildren  in  corresponding  numbers.  Her 
owner  lived  up  in  the  country,  and  she  hired  her 
time  of  him  at  two  dollars  a  week,  while  she  had  a 
stall  in  the  market,  and  did  outside  jobs.  Two  of 
her  great-grandchildren  were  her  immediate  attend 
ants.  While  ordinarily  good-natured,  she  could, 
on  occasion,  scold  and  swear  immoderately. 

Prices  for  fruit  and  vegetables  in  their  season 
were  reasonable;  but  those  for  coffee,  milk,  and 
sugar,  were  beyond  all  reason,  in  Confederate 
money.  Rio  coffee  cost  seven  dollars  a  pound; 
therefore  it  could  not  be  afforded  as  a  daily  bev 
erage.  We  used  in  place  of  it  ground  parched  rye, 
or  barley,  or  Indian  corn.  The  daily  question  was, 
"  Shall  we  have  Ri-o  coffee  or  ry-e  to-day  ?  "  Milk 
was  then  fifty  cents  a  quart,  and  butter  was  three 
dollars  a  pound.  Poor  tallow  candles  cost  us 
seventy-five  cents  each.  A  common  crockery  plate 
cost  two  dollars,  and  a  bowl  the  same.  Two  iron 
spoons  were  bought  by  us  for  a  dollar.  We  paid 
three  dollars  for  a  horn  comb,  and  two  dollars  for  a 
tooth-brush.  Yet  we  were  glad  to  have  these 
things  at  even  these  prices. 

Each  day  we  were  permitted  to  have  an  hour  in 
the  yard  for  exercise,  a  few  officers  at  a  time.  This 
was  a  great  relief.  We  were  like  school-boys  at 


278         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

recess.  Wrestling,  quoit-pitching,  leap-frog,  hop 
scotch,  and  boys'  games  generally,  were  the  order 
of  the  hour.  We  also  did  our  own  clothes  washing 
at  such  times.  There  was  a  hydrant  in  the  yard, 
but  water  from  the  pipes  was  too  warm  for  drink 
ing.  The  special  privilege  was  given  us  of  going 
out,  two  at  a  time,  under  guard,  to  draw  water  from 
a  cool  well  at  a  considerable  distance  from  the  jail. 
This  was  a  coveted  service.  It  was  looked  upon  as 
a  promotion  to  be  "  a  drawer  of  water  "  for  our 
comrades.  Little  honors  were  great  ones  in  prison. 
After  a  while  this  privilege  was  taken  from  us,  be 
cause  of  its  offense  to  citizens,  who  disliked  the 
appearance  of  Yankee  prisoners  on  their  streets. 
One  day,  as  Adjutant  Camp  and  I  drank  from  the 
bucket  on  the  well-curb,  two  little  boys  were 
watching  us.  As  we  turned  away,  one  of  them 
said  feelingly : 

"  I  was  goin'  to  ha'  drinked,  but  them  Yanks  ha' 
spoiled  the  well." 

And  it  was  too  bad. 

The  officers  of  our  guard  were  soldiers  tem 
porarily  disabled  for  more  active  service.  As  sol 
diers  they  gave  us  soldierly  treatment.  We  were 
grateful  for  their  immediate  course  toward  us.  Yet 
we  were  their  prisoners,  and  as  such  we  were 
necessarily  in  a  hostile  attitude  toward  them.  We 
represented  the  Federal  government;  they  repre 
sented  the  Confederacy.  They  held  us  in  confine 
ment,  without  any  promise  on  our  part.  It  was 


Prison  Experiences  279 

our  duty  to  escape  if  we  could.  It  was  their  duty 
to  prevent  our  doing  so.  We  were  desirous  of 
getting  information  from  without.  They  tried  to 
keep  it  from  us.  All  this  called  for  alertness  on 
both  sides. 

We  could  almost  always  depend  on  the  slaves  to 
aid  us  to  the  extent  of  their  ability.  They  tried 
various  ways  of  getting  to  us  the  daily  papers, 
which  we  were  denied  by  the  authorities.  At  first 
they  concealed  a  paper  in  their  garments,  and  man 
aged  to  deliver  it  under  the  eye  of  a  corporal  or 
sergeant  of  the  guard,  who  always  came  in  with 
our  cook.  Some  of  us  would  get  between  him  and 
her,  and  engage  him  in  conversation,  or  arrest  his 
attention  by  some  altercation,  while  she  passed 
over  the  paper.  When  this  plan  was  discovered, 
the  cook  was  searched  before  she  entered,  and  we 
had  to  try  another  way.  For  a  time  the  small 
newspaper,  closely  folded,  was  put  inside  of  a  large 
loaf  of  corn-cake,  hollowed  out  for  the  purpose; 
but  when  they  learned  of  this,  they  cut  open  every 
loaf  before  it  was  given  to  us.  Then  we  tried  a 
new  plan. 

Picking  up  in  the  back  yard  a  tin  blacking- 
box  cover,  we  fitted  its  plate  into  the  lid  of  the 
coffee-pot  in  which  "  Old  Maggie "  brought  our 
steaming-hot  rye  coffee.  The  blacking-box  plate 
served  as  an  inner  lid  to  the  coffee-pot  cover, 
being  secured  in  place  by  the  bending  down  of 
slots  in  the  rim  of  the  cover  with  corresponding 


280         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

notches  in  the  plate.  The  newspaper,  closely 
folded,  was  packed  in  the  space  between  the  two 
covers  thus  secured  to  the  coffee-pot.  When  the 
coffee-pot  was  opened,  as  it  always  was,  for  exami 
nation,  before  our  guard  would  leave  it  with  us  for 
the  morning,  the  outcoming  steam  would  so  far 
confuse  his  sight  that  he  never  suspected  there  was 
anything  contraband  there. 

Of  course,  the  paper  was  wet  with  steam  when 
taken  out,  but  it  was  handled  carefully  and  dried 
thoroughly  before  we  read  it.  Thus,  in  one  way  or 
another,  we  had  the  news  of  the  day,  with  very  rare 
exceptions,  during  all  our  imprisonment. 

Although  we  were  supposed  to  have  no  direct 
communication  with  prisoners  in  other  parts  of  the 
jail,  we  had  little  difficulty  in  keeping  up  full  cor 
respondence  with  them.  By  a  series  of  agreed 
signals  with  the  Confederate  prisoners  in  the  room 
back  of  ours,  we  knew  when  it  was  safe  to  pass  a 
word  along.  Then  we  would  send  a  letter  from 
our  room  to  theirs,  through  a  break  in  the  plaster 
of  the  intervening  partition  near  the  floor.  That 
letter  would  by  them  be  attached  to  a  bent  pin, 
lowered  by  a  thread  through  the  ceiling  and  floor 
above,  and  be  drawn  up  by  our  enlisted  men.  In 
like  manner  a  letter  would  come  back  to  us,  or  be 
lowered  to  our  naval  officers  on  the  opposite  side 
of  the  hall.  In  this  way  plans  for  escape  were 
considered,  and  important  information  was  com 
municated. 


Prison  Experiences  281 

In  sight  from  our  jail  windows  was  the  office  of 
one  of  the  daily  newspapers.  Its  bulletin-board 
was  near  by,  at  the  corner  of  two  of  the  principal 
streets.  The  conduct  of  those  who  stopped  to  read 
these  bulletins  gave  us  a  pretty  good  idea  of  the 
nature  of  any  fresh  intelligence.  When  men  read 
slowly,  and  moved  off  with  downcast  heads,  we 
took  courage  as  to  the  progress  of  affairs  in  the 
great  struggle.  When  they  showed  delight  at  what 
they  saw,  and  evidently  congratulated  one  another 
on  the  good  news,  we  were  correspondingly  de 
pressed. 

We  saw  reinforcements  for  General  Bragg  at 
Chickamauga,  on  their  way  from  General  Lee's 
army,  passing  in  sight  of  our  windows,  and  it  was 
hard  to  be  unable  to  notify  our  commanders  of  this 
movement  of  troops.  Prisoners  from  the  army  of 
General  Rosecrans,  in  the  battle  which  followed 
that  movement,  were  taken  toward  Salisbury,  before 
our  eyes  but  beyond  our  greeting,  when  we  longed 
to  give  them  words  of  sympathy  and  cheer.  News 
of  Federal  losses  and  defeats,  and  rumors  of  retalia 
tory  measures  which  should  cause  the  wholesale 
execution  of  prisoners  on  both  sides,  were  inevitably 
depressing,  and  it  was  so  hard  to  be  inactive  while 
intense  action  seemed  the  only  life  worth  living. 

We  had  our  occupations  and  diversions  in  our 
jail  rooms.  Two  German-American  officers  gave 
us  lessons  in  German.  Two  others  were  our  in 
structors  in  phonography.  We  whittled  out  a  set 


282         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

of  wooden  chessmen,  and  had  a  series  of  competi 
tive  chess  games.  Adjutant  Camp  was  a  fine 
player,  having  been  president  of  the  Yale  Chess 
Club  while  in  college.  He  was  sometimes  person 
ally  matched  against  all  the  other  good  players 
united,  while  the  rest  of  us  watched  the  contest 
with  interest.  As  we  were  shut  up  to  our  dull  life 
in  common,  with  no  opportunity  to  work  off  sur 
plus  feeling  in  any  outside  effort,  it  was  easy  to  get 
up  an  excitement  without  much  seeming  provoca 
tion.  Some  of  our  more  mischievous  fellows  would 
take  advantage  of  this,  and  stir  up  an  unexpected 
breeze  when  there  seemed  a  dead  calm. 

One  of  our  phonographic  teachers  was  an  enthu 
siastic  admirer  of  Pitman's  system,  the  other  in 
clined  to  Graham's  modification  of  Pitman.  Often 
they  discussed  the  rival  systems  earnestly.  The 
rest  of  us  took  no  part.  One  evening,  when  things 
inside  were  peculiarly  dull,  the  Pitman  man  ven 
tured  a  remark  in  praise  of  his  favorite.  A  waggish 
young  officer  whispered  to  me : 

"Who  is  that  other  fellow  that  they  talk 
about  ?  " 

"  Graham,"  I  answered. 

Then  he  spoke  aloud  : 

"  I've  understood  that  Graham's  system  is  a  good 
deal  better  than  Pitman's." 

This  was  an  unlooked-for  friend  of  the  enemy. 
The  Pitman  man  was  aroused.  Like  a  flash  he 
sprang  to  the  defense  of  his  hero,  and  the  follower 


Prison  Experiences  283 

of  Graham  replied  vigorously  to  his  opponent. 
Soon  the  air  of  the  jail  was  thick  with  excited 
controversy,  and  it  was  more  like  a  theological  or 
scientific  combat  between  friends  and  foes  of 
Higher  Criticism,  or  of  Evolution,  than  like  a  quiet 
military  prison.  Meantime  the  waggish  officer 
who  set  the  thing  agoing  was  laughing  in  his 
sleeve — if  he  had  on  a  sleeve  just  then — over  the 
combustibility  of  tinder  under  flint  and  steel. 

Occasionally  we  had  a  share  in  a  special  enter 
tainment  in  the  neighboring  Town  .Hall.  Our 
stage-box  in  the  jail  was  secured  to  us  for  the 
season  for  whatever  performances  went  on  there, 
and  we  had  no  fear  of  being  crowded  out  by  a  rush 
of  other  spectators.  We  could  hear  the  speeches 
in  political  meetings  there,  and  no  one  took  more 
interest  than  we  in  what  was  said.  A  negro  min 
strel  performance  by  imitation  negroes  seemed  to 
us  a  poor  substitute  for  the  genuine  article,  as  we 
had  been  familiar  with  it  in  New  Berne  and  on  St. 
Helena  Island ;  but  it  was  a  great  deal  better  than 
nothing,  and  we  retained  our  box  through  it  all. 

By  and  by  there  came  a  Madame  Ruhl,  a  refugee 
from  New  Orleans,  with  a  corps  of  good  assistants, 
and  gave  several  concerts.  We  were  all  on  hand 
those  nights.  Every  jail  window-seat  that  looked 
toward  the  hall  was  crowded.  Earnest  faces  were 
pressing  between  the  bars  above  and  below. 
Strains  of  stirring  and  of  plaintive  music  coming 
through  the  still  air  across  the  starry  night,  with 


284         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

their  thrilling  associations  of  former  times  in  other 
places,  touched  our  hearts  with  unwonted  power. 
We  held  our  breath  at  her  sweetest  strains,  and  we 
dared  not  show  one  another  how  deeply  the  music 
moved  us.  When  at  last  she  sang  "  Home,  Sweet 
Home,"  it  was  more  than  we  could  bear.  It  was 
harder  than  ever  to  sleep  that  night  in  the  dreary 
jail,  as  we  tried  not  to  think  of  home. 

With  all  the  occasional  lights  on  its  gloom,  our 
life  in  prison  was  still  gloomy  prison  life.  With  all 
the  soldierly  treatment  of  their  soldier  prisoners  by 
the  Southern  officers  immediately  over  us,  we  were 
subject  to  the  caprices  of  their  enlisted  men,  volun 
teers,  or  conscripts,  sometimes  coarse,  ignorant, 
and  even  brutal,  in  spirit  and  conduct,  who  were  on 
guard  in  charge  of  us,  and  even  the  officers  them 
selves  were  at  times  compelled  to  carry  out  orders 
from  those  above  them,  which  they  could  not  but 
regret. 

The  Confederate  prisoners  on  the  floor  above  us 
were  even  more  severely  dealt  with  than  ourselves. 
They  were  forbidden  to  stand  near  the  iron-barred 
windows  looking  out  into  the  yard.  One  afternoon 
we  heard  several  shots  in  succession  and  a  subse 
quent  commotion  in  the  rooms  above.  In  a  few 
minutes  we  learned  that  one  of  the  guard,  con 
cealed  in  an  outbuilding  in  the  yard,  had,  without 
warning,  fired  at  Confederate  prisoners  who  were 
quietly  looking  out  of  their  windows,  and  killed 
two  of  them  within  five  minutes.  The  sergeant  of 


Prison  Experiences  285 

the  guard  told  us  boastingly  that  that  man  had 
killed  two  men  in  firing  only  three  shots.  As 
there  had  been  no  outbreak  among  the  prisoners, 
but  merely  a  careless  looking  out  of  the  window 
into  the  jail  yard,  we  chafed  indignantly  under  this 
cruel  severity  on  the  part  of  those  who  were  over 
us.  When  the  bodies  of  those  dead  prisoners  were 
brought  from  the  upper  floor  past  our  room  doors, 
it  was  hard  for  us  to  contain  ourselves  in  our  help 
lessness. 

A  few  days  later,  one  of  our  fellow-officers,  who 
had  been  severely  wounded,  and  had  lain  several 
weeks  in  the  hospital,  had  taken  his  seat  in  one  of 
the  windows  looking  toward  the  Town  Hall,  in 
order  to  get  a  little  fresh  air  on  a  hot  afternoon. 
We  had  not  been  forbidden  to  keep  back  from  the 
windows,  but  a  brutal  sentry  came  up  from  outside 
and  told  the  wounded  captain  to  get  out  of  his 
place  or  he  would  shoot  him.  Our  poor  weak 
companion  attempted  to  comply  with  the  sentry's 
demand.  But  one  of  our  number  sprang  up  into 
the  window-seat,  and,  putting  his  body  in  front  of 
the  captain,  said  indignantly : 

"  If  you  want  to  shoot  anybody,  shoot  a  well 
man  ;  don't  be  so  cowardly  as  to  shoot  down 
a  poor,  sick,  wounded  officer.  Take  a  well  one,  if 
you  must  shoot  anybody.  We  shouldn't  be  in 
here  as  prisoners  if  we  hadn't  been  willing  to  face 
shooting.  Shoot  away,  then,  if  you  want  to." 

Instead  of  firing,  the  sentry  lowered  his  musket 


286         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

from  his  shoulder,  and  moved  off  on  his  beat.  The 
noise  of  the  altercation  was  heard  by  the  lieutenant 
on  duty.  He  came  in  to  inquire  its  cause.  Learn 
ing  the  facts,  he  put  another  man  on  that  sentry's 
beat,  and  said  that  we  might  occupy  the  window- 
seats  as  we  pleased.  These  incidents  were  not 
composing  to  the  intense  nature  of  a  soldier  pris 
oner,  and  it  was  hard  to  keep  an  equable  frame  of 
mind. 

For  a  while  two  of  our  naval  officers  were  held 
in  irons  in  a  separate  room,  as  hostages  for  two 
Confederate  officers  held  by  our  government  on  a 
charge  of  piracy.  Two  of  our  army  officers  were 
similarly  shut  away  from  their  fellows,  because  of 
an  attempt  to  escape.  Such  things  increased  and 
intensified  our  prison-life  trials. 

Imprisonment  did  not  shut  me  off  from  opportu 
nities  of  service  as  a  chaplain.  Every  evening  I 
conducted  prayers  with  my  companions  in  misfor 
tune,  before  we  lay  down  to  sleep.  On  Sundays  I 
led  in  a  service  of  worship  in  our  officers'  quarters. 
After  a  while,  our  naval  officers  from  across  the 
hall  had  permission  to  come  into  our  room  at  this 
hour;  and  they  were  glad  to  avail  themselves  of 
the  opportunity.  I  obtained  permission  to  go  up 
stairs  and  preach  to  our  enlisted  men ;  and  again 
to  go  out  into  the  yard  and  preach  to  our  sailors 
there.  We  organized  a  choir  of  singers  in  both 
places,  which  added  greatly  to  the  attractiveness  of 
the  services. 


Prison  Experiences  287 

Pastoral  work  seemed  even  more  effective  in 
prison  than  in  camp.  Men  were  glad  to  speak  out 
their  heart  thoughts  to  one  who  could  proffer  them 
sympathy  in  their  need.  Many  privileges  were 
accorded  me  in  this  line,  and  I  have  precious 
memories  of  personal  interviews  with  soldiers  and 
sailors  in  that  jail,  who  afterwards  went  out  to  Salis 
bury  and  Andersonville  to  suffer  and  to  die,  far 
from  home  and  friends.  As  I  had  a  little  money 
with  me  to  the  last,  I  would  buy  a  supply  of  soft 
bread  each  day,  and,  standing  at  the  door  of  my 
quarters  while  the  men  were  passing  along  on  the 
way  from  the  hour  of  recreation  in  the  yard  to  their 
room  above,  I  would  give  a  portion  to  the  more 
needy  on  the  sick  list.  Of  course,  this  was  appre 
ciated  by  men  who  had  no  other  variation  from  the 
coarse  corn-bread  of  their  prison  fare.  As  I  handed 
a  loaf  to  a  worn  and  sickly-looking  German  soldier 
one  day,  he  smiled  a  forlorn  smile  as  he  thanked 
me  for  my  kindness,  and  added  his  extra  petition, 
as  if  to  say  that  there  was  one  thing  better  than 
bread : 

"  Shaplin,  I  vish  you  vud  pray  de  good  God  dat 
he  take  us  out  of  dis  dam  hole." 

It  was  in  the  spirit  of  earnest  prayer,  even  though 
not  in  conventional  phrase,  that  he  blurted  out  this 
heart -cry. 

Confinement  and  constant  nervous  strain  were 
too  much  for  me.  After  a  few  months'  imprison 
ment  my  health  gave  way,  and  I  had  an  attack  of 


288         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

low  fever.  A  Confederate  surgeon  was  called  in 
and  prescribed  for  me.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
unremitting  tender  ministry,  in  care  and  sympathy, 
of  my  loved  friend  Adjutant  Camp,  I  should  have 
sunk  beyond  hope  of  recovery.  He  would  not  let 
me  go  down.  He  breathed  his  own  courage  and 
hope  into  my  failing  spirits.  He  gave  me  life  when 
mine  was  going  out.  When  I  seemed  at  the  low 
est  point,  he  secured  for  me  nourishing  food  from 
outside,  because  I  was  unable  to  find  needed  sus 
tenance  in  prison  fare.  We  had  learned  that  board 
at  a  good  hotel  was  then  costing  twenty  dollars  a 
day  in  Confederate  currency.  He  sent  by  one  of 
the  guard  a  request  for  as  good  a  meal  for  me  as 
could  be  obtained  at  the  best  hotel  in  the  city.  He 
was  ready  to  part  with  his  gold  watch  to  pay  for 
this,  if  necessary.  The  tempting  food  came  in.  It 
rallied  me  by  its  appetizing  and  nutritious  qualities. 
When  he  asked  for  the  bill,  he  was  told  that  the 
proprietor  would  not  take  a  cent  for  it,  as  he 
learned  that  it  was  for  a  sick  chaplain.  It  was  just 
at  that  time  that  the  order  came  for  my  removal  to 
Richmond,  presumably  on  my  way  to  freedom. 
And  I  have  always  felt  that  my  life  was  saved  in 
this  way. 

Six  years  after  this  incident,  I  was  in  Savannah, 
Georgia,  with  a  friend  who  had  been  an  officer  in 
the  Confederate  army  and  a  prisoner  of  war  in  Fort 
Delaware.  We  were  talking  over  war  times 
together.  We  were  in  the  office  of  the  Screven 


Prison  Experiences  289 

House.  My  friend  mentioned  that  the  proprietor 
of  the  Screven  House  had  had  charge  of  a  hotel  in 
Columbia  during  the  war.  At  this  I  questioned 
the  proprietor  about  the  dates  of  his  life  there.  He 
mentioned  incidentally  that,  in  the  fall  of  1863,  he 
had  heard  of  a  sick  Union  chaplain  in  Richland 
Jail,  and  sent  him  as  good  a  meal  as  he  could  pro 
vide. 

"  I  was  that  sick  Union  chaplain,"  I  said,  "  and  I 
have  always  felt  that  that  meal  was  one  of  the 
things  that  saved  my  life  when  I  was  sinking  under 
prison  life  and  prison  fare." 

"  My  heavens  !  you  the  man  !  I'm  glad  I  sent  it, 
then." 

And  /  was  glad. 

It  was  good  to  rise  up  from  that  jail  floor  and 
take  a  start  toward  home.  But  it  was  hard  to  part 
with  my  loved  friend  Adjutant  Camp,  leaving  him 
in  the  gloomy  prison-house.  It  was  like  the  part 
ing  of  friends  when  one  is  going  out  into  the  free 
dom  of  a  better  life  beyond,  and  the  other  is  to  stay 
behind.  Each  was  glad,  and  each  was  sad.  It 
must  be  so. 

Dr.  Luck,  the  naval  surgeon,  was  my  companion 
toward  Richmond.  Before  five  o'clock  in  the 
morning  we,  with  several  Confederate  conscripts 
and  deserters,  who  were  to  be  left  at  Wilmington, 
North  Carolina,  were  on  our  way,  under  guard,  to 
the  railroad  station,  to  take  the  early  train  north 
ward.  The  sergeant  in  charge  of  us  was  a  gentle- 


290         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

manly  college  student,  and  he  made  the  journey  as 
pleasant  as  he  could  for  us.  It  was  a  slow  journey 
at  the  best.  We  had  long  waits  at  junctions.  Once 
we  were  delayed  for  hours  during  the  night  by  a 
broken-down  freight  train,  and  then  were  obliged 
to  go  on  foot  around  the  wreck,  and  take  a  train  on 
the  other  side.  The  cars  were  crowded  with  Con 
federate  officers  and  men.  We  conversed  freely 
with  them,  and  this  without  any  bitterness  on 
either  side.  There  were  many  expressions  of 
Union  sentiment.  Indeed,  with  all  the  degree  of 
unanimity  there  was  among  the  people  of  the  South 
as  to  the  war  against  the  government,  I  never  at 
any  time  in  my  army  service  met  a  number  of  them 
while  I  was  on  flag  of  truce,  or  in  my  prison  life, 
without  finding  some  expression  of  hearty  love  for 
the  Union,  and  of  earnest  hope  for  the  triumph  of 
the  United  States  government  After  a  stop  over 
a  part  of  Sunday  night  at  a  hotel  in  Petersburg,  we 
came  into  Richmond  early  on  Monday  morning — 
too  early  to  report  at  the  provost-marshal-general's 
office.  In  a  Richmond  restaurant,  by  consent  of 
the  sergeant,  I  bought  a  cup  of  hot  "  ry-e  "  coffee 
for  a  dollar  and  a  half,  and  found  it  very  refreshing. 
Being  taken,  as  soon  as  he  came  to  his  office, 
before  General  John  H.  Winder  (familiarly  known, 
from  his  West  Point  days,  as  "  Hog  Winder "), 
Provost-Marshal-General  of  the  Confederacy,  in 
charge  of  all  prisoners  of  war,  we  were  remanded 
to  the  Libby  Prison,  and  were  started  thither.  As 


Prison  Experiences  291 

we  passed  through  the  streets,  snow,  from  a  sudden 
cold  flurry,  was  driven  in  our  faces.  I  had  on  only 
the  thin  clothing,  worn  thinner  by  jail  wear,  in 
which  I  had  been  captured  below  Charleston  in  the 
heat  of  July.  It  was  now  the  second  week  in 
November.  The  cold  wind  of  that  wintry  day  cut 
to  the  bones  of  my  emaciated  frame.  Nothing  but 
the  trying  side  of  a  soldier's  life  was  just  then 
prominent  in  my  personal  situation;  but  just  then 
I  thanked  God  that  my  life  was  likely  to  be  once 
more  in  the  war  for  the  life  of  our  God-given  gov 
ernment. 

Libby  Prison  was  a  very  different  place  from  the 
jail  at  Charleston,  or  at  Columbia ;  life  here  was 
very  different  from  life  there.  The  Richmond 
building,  near  the  James  River,  on  Carey  Street, 
was  an  extensive  three-story  brick  structure,  for 
merly  occupied  by  Libby  &  Co.  as  a  ship-chandlery 
establishment.  Its  rooms,  quite  low  between  joists, 
were  broad,  long,  and  capacious.  There  were  six 
large  rooms  for  prisoners,  besides  the  kitchens, 
mess-rooms,  and  a  hospital.  The  commandant's 
office  was  on  the  ground  floor,  at  the  right  of  the 
main  entrance.  Below  the  street,  in  the  cellar, 
were  dungeons  for  the  confinement  of  prisoners  in 
disfavor.  Only  officers  held  as  military  prisoners 
were  in  the  Libby.  On  the  opposite  side  of  Carey 
Street,  a  little  to  the  west,  was  "  Castle  Thunder," 
another  brick  warehouse,  for  the  confinement  of 
prisoners  of  state  held  on  special  charges.  On 


292         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Belle  Isle,  in  the  James  River,  in  sight  from  the 
windows  of  the  Libby,  were  our  enlisted  men,  in 
far  worse  plight  than  the  officers. 

Taken  into  the  office  of  the  Libby,  I  was  exam 
ined  by  Major  Turner,  the  prison  commandant. 
He  was  a  gentleman  in  comparison  with  "  Dick 
Turner,"  the  prison  inspector,  who  was  a  man  of  the 
old-time  slave  overseer  sort.  Yet  I  had  been  told 
by  one  of  the  veteran  Confederate  officers  over  us 
at  Columbia  that  I  might  not  expect  the  same 
treatment  at  the  Libby  as  at  Columbia,  for  "  Major 
Turner  has  never  been  in  active  service."  Yet  I  had 
no  cause  of  complaint  of  his  treatment  of  me  per 
sonally.  It  was  indeed  trying  to  a  soldier  to  find 
the  United  States  flag,  "  union  down,"  fastened 
behind  Major  Turner's  desk  in  that  prison  office, 
and  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  I  received 
the  order  to  pass  up  to  the  floor  above,  and  share 
the  lot  of  my  fellow-prisoners.  As  I  ascended  the 
ladder  leading  to  the  upper  rooms,  and  my  head 
showed  itself  above  the  floor  to  the  crowd  of  pris 
oners  there,  I  was  greeted  by  the  cry  from  a  hun 
dred  voices : 

"  Fresh  fish  !  fresh  fish  !  fresh  fish  !  " 

And  that  gave  me  a  place  as  a  freshman  in  the 
great  prison  college  where  the  seniors  were  known 
as  "  sardines." 

Nearly  a  thousand  Union  officers  were  in  the 
Libby  at  that  time.  It  was  a  bewildering  throng 
in  which  I  found  myself  as  I  stood  among  those 


Prison  Experiences  293 

who  pressed  forward  at  the  announcement  of  a  new 
prison  comer.  It  seemed  as  though  there  was  no 
more  standing-room  for  prisoners,  and  how  all 
could  find  room  to  lie  down  was  a  matter  of 
wonder.  It  was  not  easily  arranged,  after  all. 
When  night  came,  the  officers  stood  in  rows,  each 
in  his  appointed  place,  and  then  they  lay  down,  so 
closely  packed  that  the  floor  was  literally  covered 
by  them.  All  must  go  to  bed,  and  all  must  get  up, 
by  agreement.  There  was  no  walking  around  by  a 
restless  sleeper,  no  getting  up  in  advance  of  one's 
fellows  in  the  morning.  There  seemed  to  be  no 
space  for  me  on  the  over-packed  floor,  and  at  first 
I  thought  I  must  stand  up  all  night;  but  provision 
was  made  for  me.  General  Neal  Dow,  of  Maine, 
was  at  that  time  the  ranking  officer  in  the  Libby. 
Naturally  he  had  a  little  larger  space  than  the 
others  assigned  to  him,  and  he  generously  accorded 
me  room  to  lie  down  on  his  floor  patch,  which  was 
in  the  center  of  the  front  end  of  the  second  story 
of  the  Libby. 

Most  of  the  windows  at  both  ends  of  the  room 
had  been  broken  out,  and,  although  the  spaces 
were  barred,  the  cold  winds  swept  through  piti 
lessly.  No  sunlight  found  its  way  in  even  on  a 
bright  day,  and  the  bare  floors  were  damp  all  day 
and  all  night  from  each  morning's  washing.  In  my 
weak  and  worn  condition,  I  was  cold  all  the  time. 
When  night  came  I  must  shiver  in  my  one  thin 
blanket.  Falling  asleep,  I  would  dream  of  being 


294         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

near  a  fire  trying  to  warm  myself,  and  then  I  would 
awake  to  find  it  was  a  dream.  Of  all  forms  of  mere 
physical  discomfort,  I  never  knew  anything  more 
trying  than  this  continuous  shivering  with  cold  by 
day  and  by  night. 

"  Skirmish  for  graybacks ! "  was  the  morning 
signal  in  the  Libby  for  preparing  to  rise.  Each 
officer  then,  sitting  up  in  his  place,  would  strip  off 
his  upper  garments,  and  cleanse  himself  from 
vermin  for  the  day.  "  Graybacks  "  was  the  popular 
term  for  a  Confederate  enemy,  and  again  for  our 
most  obnoxious  insect  foe.  It  was  a  strange  sight, 
those  long  rows  of  Union  officers,  including  men 
in  the  highest  spheres  of  life  in  the  North,  indus 
triously  striving  to  exterminate  their  insect  enemy, 
which  was  fattening  itself  on  the  best  blood  in 
the  land.  It  was  a  struggle  for  the  survival  of  the 
fittest.  When  all  was  ready,  men  stood  up  for  the 
new  day,  to  answer  to  the  prison  roll-call  from 
"  Dick  Turner." 

The  bare,  cobwebbed,  and  dusty  walls  of  the 
prison-rooms  had  been  nailed,  and  pegged,  and 
shelved,  and  cord-strung,  for  the  hanging  and  stow 
ing  of  cups,  and  pots,  and  pans,  and  jars,  and 
bottles,  and  books,  and  musical  instruments,  and 
fencing-foils,  and  smaller  articles  of  clothing,  while 
between  the  naked  floor-beams  above  were  hang 
ing,  on  lines,  blankets  and  shawls  and  overcoats 
and  towels.  On  the  floor  were  boxes  and  razeed 
barrels,  and  an  occasional  crippled  chair,  for  seats. 


Prison  Experiences  295 

These  made  the  place  look  more  like  a  pawn 
broker's,  or  a  city  junk-shop,  than  like  our  Colum 
bia  Jail  quarters. 

At  the  end  of  each  main  room  was  a  single 
water-faucet,  where  the  one  hundred  and  fifty  to 
two  hundred  inmates  of  that  room  could  wash, 
without  basin  or  tub,  when  they  could  get  access 
to  it.  The  eating-rooms  on  the  lower  floor  had 
rude  tables  of  unplaned  boards  running  their  en 
tire  length,  with  narrow  benches  of  the  same 
material  alongside  of  them.  Along  the  sides  of 
these  eating-rooms  were  ten  small  cook-stoves,  at 
each  of  which  a  hundred  men  must  do  their  cook 
ing  for  the  day.  Thorough  system  and  prompt 
work  were  necessary  to  secure  this.  Our  officers 
must  arrange  for  it.  They  had  an  organization, 
with  the  ranking  officer  in  prison  as  the  com 
mandant,  and  a  designated  adjutant,  and  a  com 
missary.  Groups  of  officers  formed  into  messes, 
each  man  in  turn  sharing  in  the  cooking  for  his 
mess,  and  putting  into  the  common  stock  his  por 
tion  of  fuel.  The  messes  agreed  together  as  to  the 
hour  of  the  day  or  night  when  they  could  have 
the  use  of  the  stove  during  the  next  week.  Thus  the 
stoves  were  in  use  all  the  twenty-four  hours,  and 
this  was  none  too  much  time. 

Meals  in  the  Libby  at  the  best  were  not  of  the 
best.  One  of  my  fellow-officers  found  a  whole  rat 
baked  into  a  loaf  of  corn-cake  furnished  with  his 
rations.  The  rat  had  probably  jumped  into  the 


296         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

dough-trough  while  the  corn-cake  was  making^ 
and  been  knocked  in  the  head  and  worked  into 
the  cake.  It  was  not  a  good  appetizer.  Another 
fellow-officer,  a  cultivated  Boston  gentleman,  was 
cooking  for  his  mess  at  one  time.  He  made  a 
savory  dish  for  himself  of  "  pea  soup  "  by  boiling  a 
lot  of  beans  together  with  a  fresh  ham-bone.  It 
was  midnight  when  the  soup  was  cooked.  If  he 
should  eat  it  before  he  slept,  he  would  lose  the 
pleasant  feeling  of  having  a  full  stomach  while  wide 
awake  ;  therefore  he  set  it  aside  until  daylight. 
On  looking  at  it  in  the  morning,  he  found  its  sur 
face  covered  with  cooked  maggots.  He  could  not 
but  be  glad  that  he  had  not  eaten  it  in  the  dark. 
But  he  welcomed  the  next  prison-meal,  because  it 
was  the  best  he  could  get. 

During  the  day  there  were  classes  in  German,  in 
French,  and  in  phonography.  Men  played  cards, 
or  chess,  or  checkers.  Others  fenced  with  prison- 
made  foils.  Some  sketched ;  some  carved  beef- 
bone  napkin-rings,  or  shirt-studs,  or  seals,  or  other 
ornaments ;  some  made  thread  "  tatting  "  as  they 
had  learned  to  in  boyhood.  All  knew  well  that 
the  hardest  work  in  the  world  is  to  do  nothing,  and 
no  one  attempted  that. 

Boxes  from  the  Sanitary  Commission,  and  from 
the  Christian  Commission,  containing  supplies  for 
the  prisoners,  as  well  as  boxes  from  home  friends, 
were  now  being  received  at  the  Libby,  thus  supply 
ing  them  with  comforts  we  had  lacked  in  Columbia. 


Prison  Experiences  297 

It  would  have  gladdened  the  home  hearts  to  see 
the  delight  with  which  a  prisoner  unpacked  the 
box  from  his  dear  ones,  and  gloated  over  each 
longed-for  or  unexpected  treasure  in  the  gloom  of 
his  prison-house. 

There  were  prison  amusements  of  their  kind. 
The  "  Libby  Minstrels  "  and  the  "  Libby  Warblers  " 
gave  an  occasional  concert.  Now  and  then  there 
was  a  lecture  by  some  officer  on  a  topic  of  interest 
to  all.  Moreover,  there  were  well-attended  prayer- 
meetings  three  evenings  of  the  week.  When  there 
were  any  chaplains  in  prison  there  were  religious 
services,  with  sermons,  twice  each  Sunday  ;  and 
even  when  there  was  no  chaplain,  some  non- 
clerical  officer  often  performed  this  duty. 

It  was  only  at  occasional  intervals  that  a  pris 
oner  was  released  from  the  Libby,  while  exchanges 
were  suspended ;  hence,  when  a  man  was  released, 
he  had  many  messages  from  the  prisoners  to  their 
friends.  As  he  was  searched  for  contraband 
articles  on  going  out,  as  on  coming  in,  it  was  not 
easy  to  carry  a  note  undetected;  but  a  man  can 
generally  do  what  he  has  to  do.  An  important 
message  was  carried,  in  one  instance,  on  very  thin 
paper  rolled  up  in  tin-foil,  and  pressed  into  and  on 
top  of  a  decayed  back  tooth.  Many  a  message 
was  written  in  lemon-juice  (to  be  brought  out  by 
heat)  between  the  lines  of  an  open  letter  submitted 
for  examination.  At  last  the  authorities  realized 
that  the  tricks  of  "  Yankees  "  could  not  be  found 


298         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

out  by  examination  ;  therefore  they  dropped  the 
searching,  and  put  a  prisoner  on  his  word  of  honor 
not  to  carry  "  any  written  communication  of  any 
sort  from  any  one  inside  to  any  one  outside."  A 
soldier,  of  course,  regarded  that  assurance,  even  to 
an  enemy  in  war  time,  binding  on  him  without 
qualification.  Then  the  memory  had  to  be  substi 
tuted  for  writing. 

As  it  was  understood  that  I  would  soon  pass 
through  the  lines,  I  was  plied  with  verbal  messages 
to  those  at  home.  One  man,  whose  family  lived 
near  Borden's  condensed-milk  factory,  wanted  me 
to  ask  his  wife  to  have  a  twenty-dollar  gold-piece 
sealed  up  in  a  can  of  milk  at  that  factory,  and  then 
to  send  the  can  to  him  in  a  box  of  home  comforts 
by  flag  of  truce.  He  knew  that  at  the  Libby  they 
would  simply  punch  a  hole  in  the  can  to  see  that  it 
contained  milk,  and  then  hand  it  over.  A  man 
who  lived  near  the  Willimantic  Thread  Company 
wanted  his  wife  to  go  to  the  factory  and  have 
a  twenty-dollar  greenback  wound  round  a  spool 
before  the  thread  was  machine-wound  over  it.  The 
factories  were  always  ready  then  to  help  a  soldier 
in  such  ways.  I  planned  to  send  a  letter,  in  one 
instance,  between  the  layers  of  the  pasteboard 
bottom  of  a  little  box  that  had  an  unsuspicious 
look,  with  its  harmless  contents  of  sewing  and 
writing  materials.  Again  I  sent  maps  and  a  pocket- 
compass,  with  other  helps  for  a  fugitive,  in  the 
double  bottom  of  a  wooden  packing-box.  In  order 


Prison  Experiences  299 

to  avert  suspicion  of  the  fact  that  the  box  had  a 
double  bottom,  the  bottom  was  two  double  bottoms 
side  by  side,  with  a  space  between  them ;  so  that 
when  the  contents  were  turned  out,  the  authorities 
would  see  the  light  shining  through  the  bottom  of 
the  box,  and  be  convinced  that  there  was  no  double 
bottom  there.  Thus,  in  one  way  and  another,  help 
was  to  come  to  those  in  prison  from  those  outside, 
although  I  bore  no  written  message  from  any  one 
inside  the  Libby  to  any  person  outside. 

"  Boat  up !  boat  up ! "  was  the  glad  cry  that 
rang  through  the  Libby  rooms  one  day,  when  the 
news  came  that  a  flag-of-truce  boat  had  just  come 
from  City  Point,  bringing  a  mail  for  prisoners,  and 
possibly  bringing  orders  for  the  release  of  some  of 
us.  Then  followed  the  thrilling  reception  and  dis 
tribution  of  the  home  mail.  Another  night  on  the 
cold  floor,  with  the  restless,  anxious  hoping  that  it 
might  be  my  last  there,  although  all  was  still  un 
certainty.  There  was  a  rumor  that  several  of  us 
were  to  go  back  in  this  boat,  but  no  one  knew  how 
the  rumor  started.  About  noon  of  the  following 
day,  "  Dick  Turner  "  made  his  appearance  at  the 
entrance-way  of  our  room.  His  voice  rang  out,  as 
his  first  call : 

"  Chaplain  H.  Clay  Trumbull  of  the  Tenth  Con 
necticut  ! " 

I  had  never  in  my  life  been  so  glad  to  hear  my 
own  name  as  then.  I  sprang  toward  him  at  his 
call.  He  said : 


oo         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


"  If  you  want  to  go  back  in  this  boat,  hurry  up." 

"  Is  there  time  for  me  to  run  upstairs  and  get 
my  things  ?  " 

"  No ;  go  just  as  you  are,  or  not  at  all." 

I  had  left  upstairs,  on  the  floor  above,  a  little 
basket  of  my  belongings,  which  I  had  brought  from 
Columbia,  but  it  was  nothing  in  comparison  with 
liberty.  I  left  all,  and  followed  him  who  gave  me 
hope  of  freedom. 

As  I  passed  out  from  the  Libby  and  down  Carey 
Street,  under  guard,  I  looked  up  and  saw  the  glad, 
sad  faces  of  my  fellow-prisoners  crowding  the 
windows  of  that  gloomy  building.  Their  kindly 
farewells  made  my  heart  sick,  because  I  must  leave 
them  there. 

"  Good-by,  Chaplain ;  I'm  glad  you're  going 
home." 

"  God  bless  you,  Chaplain  !  I  wish  /  was  going 
with  you." 

"  Good-by !     Good-by !  " 

These  sounds  are  in  my  ears  to-day,  as  fresh  as 
thirty-five  years  ago. 

I  went  on  the  little  steamer,  "A.  H.  Shultz," 
down  the  James  River.  A  white  flag  was  above 
her  bow,  the  Confederate  flag  was  above  her  stern. 
Until  the  steamer  had  passed  the  defenses  of  Rich 
mond  I  was  kept  below.  As  we  neared  City  Point 
I  was  permitted  to  come  on  deck.  When  I  came 
in  sight  of  the  United  States  flag  floating  over  our 
flag-of-truce  steamer  New  York,  I  could  hardly 


Prison  Experiences  301 


contain  myself  for  joy,  but  I  had  to  be  restrained 
until  formally  released.  I  was  compelled  to  pass 
one  more  night  under  the  Confederate  flag.  I  was, 
however,  treated  courteously  by  Captain  Hatch, 
the  Confederate  agent  of  exchange,  and  I  made 
myself  as  contented  as  possible  until  the  hour  for 
my  transfer.  On  the  following  morning  I  was 
given  over  by  Captain  Hatch  to  Major  Mulford, 
our  agent  of  exchange,  and  my  prison  experiences 
were  at  an  end. 

From  Major  Mulford  I  learned  more  about  my 
imprisonment  and  my  return.  My  government  had 
steadily  pressed  for  my  release.  Finally  Judge 
Ould,  the  Confederate  Commissioner  of  Exchange, 
asked  Major  Mulford  if  he  could  give  his  personal 
assurance  that  I  was  what  I  claimed  to  be,  a  simple 
chaplain,  and  not  a  spy.  The  Major  said  he  had 
relatives  in  Hartford,  where  I  lived,  and  could 
easily  ascertain  the  truth.  The  Judge  said  if  he 
was  satisfied  on  this  point  I  should  be  released. 
He  also  promised  not  to  use  to  my  disadvantage 
the  Major's  silence  on  the  subject,  if  he  found  he 
could  not  vouch  for  me.  Major  Mulford,  afterwards 
General  Mulford,  had  a  cousin  living  near  me,  con 
nected  with  the  church  of  which  I  was  a  member. 
In  response  to  his  inquiry,  she  spoke  of  me  in  such 
terms  that  he  was  no  longer  in  doubt.  He  told 
Judge  Ould,  and  an  order  was  sent  to  General 
Beau  regard  for  my  release. 

When  Richmond  was  taken,  a  friend  of  mine,  in 


302         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

command  at  the  Libby,  found  among  the  official 
files  an  important  paper  in  my  case,  and  gave  it 
over  to  me.  It  contained  the  order  of  Judge  Ould 
for  my  transfer  to  Richmond,  in  response  to  the 
demand  of  General  Meredith,  our  agent  of  ex 
change,  with  the  protest  of  General  Jordan,  General 
Beauregard's  chief-of-staff,  endorsed  on  it : 

"  Chaplain  H.  Clay  Trumbull  has  been  directed 
to  be  sent  to  Richmond  at  once.  He  is  a  tricky 
fellow,  and  has  little  the  air  of  a  chaplain.  The 
great  desire  manifested  to  get  him  back,  coupled 
with  the  circumstances  of  his  capture,  make  it 
doubtful  whether  he  is  really  a  chaplain  or  a  spy." 

Some  years  after  the  war,  a  man,  who  then  met 
me  for  the  first  time,  said : 

"  Mr.  Trumbull,  you  don't  look  a  bit  like  a 
minister." 

"  I  know  that,"  I  replied.  "  I  once  came  near 
being  hanged  for  it.  Because  of  my  lack  of  the  con 
ventional  '  choker/  they  proposed  to  give  me  one 
of  hemp." 


CHAPTER  XII 

GLIMPSES   OF   GENERAL   GRANT 

Because  a  man  is  in  an  army  it  does  not  follow 
that  he  has  any  personal  knowledge  of  its  com- 
mancler-in-chief.  He  may  know  a  great  deal  about 
him.  He  may  even  have  studied  his  character  and 
history  for  years.  He  may  be  guided  in  his  every 
day  life  by  the  orders  issued  by  that  commander- 
in-chief.  Yet,  while  serving  under  him  for  a  pro 
longed  term,  he  may  never  have  a  glimpse  of  him, 
any  more  than  if  an  ocean  separated  them.  All  his 
knowledge  of  the  man  who  is  so  much  to  him  may 
be  only  at  second-hand,  as  hearsay  information. 

This  is  not  the  popular  opinion  of  army  service. 
It  certainly  was  not  the  idea  which  was  in  my 
mind,  as  a  boy,  when  occasionally  I  met  an  old 
soldier  of  the  American  Revolution  or  of  the  great 
Napoleon.  At  one  time,  when  I  went  with  my 
father  to  pay  some  pension  money  to  an  old  colored 
man  who  had  served  in  the  Revolutionary  War,  I 
asked  the  pensioner,  with  interest,  what  he  could 
tell  me  about  the  appearance  of  General  Washing 
ton.  The  old  man  was  too  kind-hearted  to  disap 
point  his  benefactor's  boy  by  telling  the  truth,  and 

303 


304         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

saying  that  he  had  never  set  eyes  on  the  com- 
mander-in-chief,  so  he  replied  at  once : 

"  Gen'al  Washin'ton  was  a  gran'  an'  imposin' 
man.  He'd  come  out  afore  the  line  ev'ry  mornin' 
an'  speak  out  in  a  loud  voice :  '  Boys,  I  want  you 
all  to  be  good  sojers  to-day.'  Ev'ry  one  o'  us  den 
ready  to  die  for  de  Gen'al." 

That  met  a  boy's  idea  of  army  service.  A  good 
many  older  persons  felt  as  that  boy  did  about  sol 
diers  serving  always  under  the  eye  of  the  com- 
mander-in-chief.  They  took  it  for  granted  that  a 
Revolutionary  soldier  was  accustomed,  as  a  matter 
of  course,  to  see  General  Washington  at  least  fre 
quently,  even  if  not  every  day. 

A  little  later,  when  I  was  presented,  in  my 
father's  sitting-room,  to  Colonel  John  Trumbull 
the  artist,  who  served  on  the  personal  staff  of 
General  Washington  as  an  aide-de-camp,  I  was 
interested  in  being  face  to  face  with  a  man  who 
had  had  special  opportunities  of  knowing  the 
"  Father  of  his  Country,"  and  of  feeling  his  im 
press  ;  but  somehow,  as  he  said  nothing  of  the 
personal  appearance  and  ways  of  General  Wash 
ington,  I  found  that  my  early  thoughts  were  most 
influenced  as  to  these  by  the  words  of  the  old 
colored  pensioner.  Personal  testimony  as  to  a 
great  commander's  looks  and  ways  is  very  effective 
when  you  know,  or  think,  that  it  is  all  true. 

When  once  I  saw  an  old  soldier  of  the  first 
Napoleon,  I  asked  him  what  he  thought  about  his 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         305 


great  commander.  I  did  not  ask  how  Napoleon 
looked,  but  how  his  soldiers  felt  about  him.  The 
old  Frenchman's  face  was  all  aglow,  and  his  form 
was  in  a  quiver,  as,  with  excited  gestures,  he  ex 
claimed  : 

"We  believed  m  Napoleon.  You  believe  in  your 
God,  we  believed  in  Napoleon.  Napoleon  say, 
'  Go  to  the  moon/  every  soldier  start ;  Napoleon 
find  the  way." 

Whether  that  soldier  had  ever  seen  Napoleon  I 
did  not  ask;  but  I  could  have  no  doubt  that  he 
had  felt  his  influence,  and  that  he  could  bear  sure 
testimony  of  it.  Thus  with  the  soldiers  of  General 
Grant.  Not  all  of  them  were  privileged  to  see  him 
personally,  but  all  felt  the  impress  of  his  person 
ality,  and  the  testimony  of  any  one  of  them  who 
ever  saw  and  heard  him,  and  who  was  thus  the 
more  impressed  by  him,  is  worthy  of  heeding,  be 
cause  it  is  an  added  evidence  of  General  Grant's 
surpassing  personality. 

General  Grant  was  not  a  "  gran'  an'  imposin' 
man,"  like  General  Washington,  or,  again,  like 
General  Scott ;  nor  was  he  a  man  of  magnetic  and 
inspiring  presence,  arousing  enthusiasm  wherever 
he  showed  himself  among  his  soldiers,  like  Napo 
leon,  or  even  like  McClellan,  or  Sherman,  or,  yet 
more,  like  Sheridan.  Neither  his  personal  appear 
ance  nor  his  manner  was  calculated  to  impress  the 
average  man  with  a  sense  of  his  greatness ;  and  his 
soldiers  had  to  learn  gradually  to  trust  implicitly 


306         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  commander  who  held  their  lives  and  the  inter 
ests  of  the  entire  country  in  his  control. 

I  have  seen  General  Grant  riding  quietly  along 
the  front,  at  a  time  when  an  important  movement 
of  his  was  evidently  a  success,  as  at  Fort  Harrison, 
in  September,  1864,  and  our  men  were  flushed  with 
a  sense  of  victory  at  the  right,  while  the  sounds  of 
battle  at  the  left  were  still  to  be  heard ;  yet  not  a 
cheer  greeted  his  progress  as  he  moved  among  the 
men  who  were  ready  to  lay  down  their  lives  at  his 
order.  I  could  have  heard  a  cheer  from  other 
divisions  had  it  been  given  on  that  occasion,  as  he 
passed  on  his  way  with  no  show  of  authority  or 
apparent  wish  to  be  greeted,  but  not  a  cheer  was 
to  be  heard.  Very  different  was  the  case  with 
many  another  general.  When  General  Burnside 
showed  himself  among  his  soldiers  in  North  Caro 
lina,  in  1862,  the  men  seemed  to  go  wild  with 
enthusiasm ;  and  it  was  much  the  same  with  Gene 
ral  John  G.  Foster,  or,  later,  with  General  Gillmore 
or  General  Terry.  It  is  true  that  Colonel  Horace 
Porter  testifies  that  the  soldiers  of  the  Army  of  the 
Potomac  were  aroused  to  such  enthusiasm  over 
their  new  commander,  at  the  opening  of  the  cam 
paign  in  May,  1864,  that  it  was  necessary  to  check 
their  vociferous  cheers,  lest  the  noise  should  dis 
close  the  commander's  presence  to  the  enemy. 
Yet  any  one  familiar  with  General  Grant's  appear 
ance  and  manner  on  the  field  would  testify  to  his 
absence  of  imposing  presence. 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         307 

But  gradually,  and  with  increasing  force,  as  the 
war  went  on,  officers  and  men  came  to  feel  confi 
dence  in  the  wisdom  and  ability  of  General  Grant, 
and  to  have  rest  in  their  abiding  trust  in  him  as 
fully  competent  for  whatever  he  had  to  do.  It  was 
said  that,  when  he  was  in  command  in  the  West, 
the  soldiers  would  look  up  and  say  quietly,  as  he 
passed,  "  There  goes  '  the  old  man.'  Pretty  hard 
nut  for  *  Johnny  Reb '  to  crack !  "  And  when  it 
was  seen  that  those  commanders  who  were  brilliant 
and  magnetic,  and  who,  like  Sherman  and  Sheri 
dan,  could  immediately  arouse  and  inspire  their 
men,  were  themselves  aroused  and  inspired  by  the 
supreme  ability  of  General  Grant,  confidence  in 
him  came  down  through  them  to  those  who  lacked 
the  ability  to  measure  him  for  themselves  at  his 
true  worth,  and  caused  them  to  perceive  in  him 
that  greatness  which  was  earlier  patent  to  the 
larger  minds. 

My  first  opportunity  of  seeing  General  Grant  was 
after  he  crossed  the  James  River  in  June,  1864, 
and  made  his  headquarters  at  City  Point.  My 
regiment  was  then  in  the  Army  of  the  James  at 
Bermuda  Hundreds,  where  General  Butler's  com 
mand  was  "  bottled  up,"  we  having  come  thither 
from  the  Department  of  the  South.  General  Grant 
came  over  to  Bermuda  Hundreds  with  General 
Butler,  soon  after  the  Army  of  the  Potomac  was  in 
position  before  Petersburg,  and  rode  along  our 
lines  reconnoitering  our  defenses.  He  made  less 


308         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

display  than  General  Butler,  or  than  an  ordinary 
division  commander,  and  we  failed  to  see  in  him 
evidences  of  the  power  that  we  knew  he  possessed. 

A  month  later,  July  16,  1864,  when  our  brigade 
occupied  a  newly  taken  position  at  Deep  Bottom, 
north  of  the  James  River,  about  ten  miles  from 
Richmond,  near  the  New  Market  Road,  General 
Grant,  accompanied  as  before  by  General  Butler, 
passed  through  our  regimental  lines  toward  a  house 
known  as  the  "  Grover  House,"  for  the  purpose 
of  sending  over  to  Richmond,  by  flag  of  truce, 
two  civilians,  Mr.  James  R.  Gilmore  ("  Edmund 
Kirke  ")  and  Colonel  Jaquess,  on  a  special  mission 
to  Jefferson  Davis,  with  the  consent  of  President 
Lincoln.  As  we  then  had  a  better  opportunity  of 
observing  General  Grant  personally,  we  watched 
him  with  curious  interest,  vainly  seeking  some 
visible  sign  of  his  greatness. 

General  Grant  was  not  given  to  display  in  dress 
or  in  surroundings.  He  was  seldom  in  full  uni 
form,  and,  as  he  himself  says,  he  rarely  wore  a 
sword  on  the  field.  Often  a  single  member  of  his 
personal  staff,  and  sometimes  only  a  single  orderly, 
accompanied  him.  On  one  occasion,  as  he  passed 
by  our  regimental  camp,  on  the  New  Market  Road, 
below  Richmond,  with  only  an  orderly,  and  wear 
ing  a  private  soldier's  blouse,  with  no  sign  of  rank 
other  than  the  three  stars  on  his  shoulder-strap, 
one  of  our  men  said  to  the  others  in  quiet  surprise : 

"  Why,  there  goes  General  Grant !  " 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         309 

"  Nonsense !  "  said  another ;  "  that  isn't  General 
Grant.  It  doesn't  look  a  bit  like  him." 

"  Well,  I  say  it  is.  Don't  you  see  those  stars  on 
his  shoulder  ?  There's  only  one  man  in  this  army 
who  wears  three  stars." 

And  that  was  conclusive. 

When,  in  the  spring  of  1865,  just  prior  to  the 
movement  of  his  armies  that  culminated  in  victory 
at  Appomattox  Court  House,  General  Grant  re 
viewed  our  division,  and  a  week  later,  when  he 
accompanied  Secretary  Stanton  at  a  review  of  our 
corps,  in  full  uniform  as  he  was,  and  accompanied 
by  his  brilliant  staff  and  distinguished  generals,  his 
appearance  better  met  the  common  idea  of  the 
commanding  general  of  a  great  army.  By  that 
time,  moreover,  even  his  impassible  countenance 
showed  its  signs  of  continual  strain  and  anxiety, 
and  gave  proof  that  he  was  not  insensible  to  the 
tremendous  responsibilities  upon  him  in  that  pro 
longed  campaign.  Slowly,  however,  at  the  best, 
did  the  majority  of  those  who  were  under  General 
Grant  grow  to  any  just  appreciation  of  his  simple 
greatness. 

It  was  not  until  after  the  war  that  I  came  into 
any  personal  relations  with  General  Grant.  My 
first  meeting  with  him  was  at  his  home  in  Wash 
ington,  just  after  his  nomination  at  Chicago  as  the 
Republican  candidate  for  the  Presidency,  in  May, 
1868.  I  was  returning  from  a  trip  to  the  South. 
General  Joseph  R,  Hawley,  who  was  chairman  of 


3 1  o         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  nominating  convention,  and  who  as  such  was 
to  notify  General  Grant  of  his  nomination,  invited 
me  to  accompany  him  on  that  occasion.  Not 
reaching  Washington  in  season  for  this,  I  ventured 
to  make  a  personal  call  on  General  Grant,  on  the 
strength  of  it,  as  I  came  northward.  I  sent  in  my 
card,  simply  writing  under  my  name,  "  A  friend  of 
General  Joseph  R.  Hawley."  In  a  few  minutes 
General  Grant  came  in,  and,  greeting  me  cordially, 
he  said : 

"  Excuse  me  for  keeping  you  waiting,  but  I  was 
out  in  the  yard  playing  circus  with  my  children." 

This  gave  me  a  glimpse  of  his  home  life,  and 
newly  attracted  me  to  him.  I  explained  the  cir 
cumstances  of  my  call,  and  told  of  my  personal 
relations  with  General  Hawley,  adding  that  I  took 
advantage  of  this  to  pay  my  respects  to  the  com 
mander  whom  every  soldier  held  so  dear.  The 
simplicity  and  naturalness  of  General  Grant  im 
pressed  me  from  the  start.  I  could  not  but  be  at 
my  ease,  as  he  talked  to  me  familiarly,  asking  in 
what  command  I  had  served,  and  about  my  army 
service.  As  I  spoke  of  the  time  when  he  rode 
through  the  lines  of  our  regiment  on  his  way  to 
the  "  Grover  House,"  with  "  Edmund  Kirke,"  in 
July,  1864,  the  General  asked  artlessly: 

"  What  horse  did  I  ride  that  day  ?  " 

I  suggested  that  I  could  not  answer  that  ques 
tion,  for  I  was  thinking  just  then  a  good  deal  more 
about  the  man  who  was  so  much  to  us  all  than 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         311 

about  the  horse  which  he  rode,  but  I  was  sure  it 
was  a  good  horse. 

When  I  proposed  to  leave,  after  this  first  saluta 
tion,  the  General  kindly  asked  me  to  remain  longer, 
and  he  spoke  of  the  political  outlook.  This  was  at 
a  time  when  the  newspaper  correspondents  were  all 
speaking  of  the  peculiar  reticence  of  General  Grant, 
"  the  silent  man,"  and  the  impossibility  of  getting 
any  expression  of  opinion  from  him.  Yet  he 
seemed  free  to  express  himself  without  restraint, 
apparently  convinced  that  no  unfair  use  would  be 
made  of  it.  He  spoke  warmly  of  General  Hawley, 
and  of  his  opening  address  at  the  nominating  con 
vention  at  Chicago.  Then  he  asked  who  I  thought 
would  be  nominated  for  President  by  the  Demo 
crats.  I  answered  that  there  seemed  more  than 
a  possibility  that  they  would  nominate  Chief  Justice 
Chase.  At  once  General  Grant  replied : 

"  I  hope  they'll  nominate  Chase.  Then  we  shall 
feel  easy  for  our  country  in  either  event." 

This  showed  the  unselfish  and  patriotic  spirit  of 
General  Grant.  His  chief  thought  was  of  the 
country  he  loved  and  served.  It  was  not  an  op 
posing  candidate  who  could  easily  be  beaten  that 
he  wanted  in  the  field,  but  one  who  would  be  best 
for  the  whole  country,  if  elected.  This  was  the 
tenor  of  General  Grant's  talk  at  that  time,  as  of  his 
life  throughout.  From  the  time  of  that  first  per 
sonal  interview  of  mine  with  General  Grant,  he 
grew  in  my  love  and  admiration  continually. 


312         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

On  various  occasions  subsequently  I  was  brought 
into  pleasant  relations  with  him,  and  I  always  found 
him  remarkably  free  as  a  conversationalist,  whether 
he  was  relating  incidents  of  his  campaigns  or  speak 
ing  of  public  affairs.  One  evening,  as  two  or  three 
of  us  sat  by  him  in  a  private  car,  he  related  some 
of  his  experiences  in  the  Mexican  War,  while  he 
was  still  a  lieutenant.  Our  troops,  under  General 
Taylor,  had  gained  a  position  in  the  city  of  Mon 
terey,  but  the  Mexicans  were  not  yet  driven  out. 
They  were  firing  from  the  windows  and  house 
tops  at  our  men,  who  were  for  the  time  unable  to 
silence  their  fire.  Moreover,  our  forces  were  in 
need  of  ammunition,  and  it  was  a  perilous  thing  to 
go  for  it  outside. 

"  I  volunteered  to  go  for  it,  and  to  report  our 
condition,"  said  General  Grant.  "  To  do  this,  I 
must  run  the  gantlet  of  this  fire,  while  every  at 
tempt  was  making  to  pick  me  off  by  the  Mexi 
cans.  I  had  a  good  horse.  I  swung  myself  down 
alongside  of  the  horse,  holding  on  by  one  leg  in 
the  saddle  (you  see,  I  could  always  ride  like  a 
monkey),  and  then  I  started  my  horse  on  a  run. 
The  bullets  flew  pretty  lively,  but  I  got  through 
safely." 

It  was  interesting  to  consider,  as  we  heard  this 
recital,  what  a  change  there  might  have  been  in 
American  history  if  a  Mexican  marksman  had  had 
a  surer  aim  just  then,  as  he  fired  at  that  young 
lieutenant,  who  was  riding  monkey-fashion  out  of 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant          313 

the  streets  of  Monterey  in  pursuit  of  more  ammu 
nition.  But  that  head  was  providentially  covered, 
for  a  purpose,  in  the  day  of  battle.  Thus  it  is  that 
God  cares  for  a  people,  in  little  things,  as  in  great. 

At  another  time,  as  I  sat  alone  with  him,  Gene 
ral  Grant  spoke  freely  of  the  circumstances  of  his 
finally  relieving  General  Butler  from  command,  and 
of  what  preceded  it.  The  details  of  the  affair 
showed  the  caution,  the  discernment,  and  the  pre 
cision,  of  General  Grant's  mind.  Being  in  doubt 
about  certain  matters  in  General  Butler's  depart 
ment,  and  distrusting  reports  he  received  as  to  a 
firm  of  wholesale  sutlers,  and  their  relations  to  the 
enemy,  he  said : 

"  I  knew  I  could  depend  absolutely  on  General 
George  Gordon,  so  I  sent  him  down  there  to  make 
thorough  investigation." 

Telling  of  the  obstacles  afterwards  encountered 
by  General  Gordon  in  his  investigations,  and  of 
his  own  determination  to  have  the  matter  thor 
oughly  sifted,  General  Grant  said  : 

"  I  concluded  it  would  be  best  to  have  General 
Butler  out  of  the  department  forthwith,  and  that 
was  when  I  issued  my  order  to  him  to  report  for 
orders  at  once  at  his  home  in  Lowell." 

Soon  after  this  recital  by  General  Grant,  I  met 
General  Gordon,  and  he  gave  me  the  same  facts 
from  his  side  of  the  story.  Such  incidents  illus 
trate  the  freeness  of  General  Grant  in  speaking  of 
important  matters,  when  he  was  under  no  restraint 


War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


through  fear  that  he  should  be  misreported  or  in 
volved  in  controversy. 

When,  on  one  occasion,  I  spoke  to  General 
Grant  of  the  sense  of  personal  responsibility  which 
he  must  have  felt  for  the  great  number  of  officers 
and  men  under  his  immediate  command,  in  the 
widely  extended  field  of  our  national  conflict  in  the 
last  year  of  our  war,  I  added  : 

"  I  should  think  that  the  mere  carrying  in  mind 
the  personality  of  the  officers  who  were  to  exe 
cute  your  orders  in  connection  with  your  best  laid 
plans  must  have  taxed  any  human  memory  and 
thought  to  the  utmost.  I  don't  see  how  it  was 
possible  for  you  to  remember  all  those  whom  you 
must  have  in  mind  in  order  to  be  sure  that  they 
could  be  depended  on  for  the  doing  of  your  special 
work  on  an  occasion  ;  for  everything  showed  that 
you  had  considered  them  all." 

"  As  to  that  matter,"  he  said,  "  I  didn't  have  to 
consider  personally  as  many  men  the  last  year  of 
the  war  as  the  first.  When  I  was  colonel  of  a 
regiment,  I  knew  every  man  in  the  regiment,  and  I 
had  them  all  in  mind.  But,  as  I  rose  in  command, 
I  made  it  my  business  to  keep  up  my  knowledge 
of  commanders  under  me  sufficiently  to  be  sure 
that  they  could  be  trusted  to  attend  to  those  whom 
they  commanded,  and  not  to  concern  myself  about 
others.  When  I  was  at  the  head  of  all  the  armies, 
I  didn't  specially  burden  my  mind  with  any  man 
below  the  rank  of  division  commander.  Being 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         3 1 5 

sure  of  these,  I  could  trust  them  to  look  out  for 
those  below  them." 

These  simple  words  testified  to  General  Grant's 
ability  to  rise  to  the  responsibilities  of  the  highest 
command  without  being  burdened  with  the  details 
of  a  lower  position.  In  this  he  succeeded,  where 
so  many  before  him  had  failed.  Great  administra 
tive  ability  always  shows  itself  in  the  power  to  shut 
unnecessary  details  out  of  mind.  Knowing  what 
not  to  do,  often  settles  the  question  of  what  to  do. 

Although  General  Grant  was  not  in  the  habit  of 
joking,  he  had  a  keen  sense  of  humor,  and  his  wit 
often  showed  itself  in  his  laconic  phrases.  I  was 
with  him  one  evening  in  Governor  Burnside's  parlor, 
when  I  was  one  of  a  delegation  who  had  come  from 
Hartford  to  invite  him  to  that  city.  As  we  were 
talking  with  him  familiarly,  Mayor  Doyle  of  Provi 
dence  came  in  to  say  that  a  large  delegation  of 
citizens  was  outside,  having  come  to  serenade  the 
President.  Governor  Burnside  at  once  stepped  to 
the  front  window,  which  opened  from  the  floor,  and, 
throwing  it  up,  stood  there  with  the  President  while 
the  band  serenaded.  Mayor  Doyle  presented  the 
greetings  of  the  assembled  citizens  to  the  President, 
who  bowed  his  acknowledgments.  The  crowd  then 
clamored  for  a  speech.  Governor  Burnside  said, 
in  response,  as  the  President  stood  silent  by  his 
side: 

"  You  know,  fellow-citizens,  that  the  President 
doesn't  make  speeches." 


316         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

"  O  General  Grant,  do  just  say  two  words  to 
us!"  cried  an  enthusiastic  voice. 

"I won't"  responded  General  Grant,  in  a  quiet, 
firm  tone,  without  moving  a  muscle  of  his  face. 
The  man's  request  for  "just  two  words"  was 
granted,  and  the  President  had  not  made  a  speech. 

The  Hon.  E.  A.  Rollins,  who  was  Commissioner 
of  Internal  Revenue  at  Washington  while  General 
Grant  was  Acting  Secretary  of  War,  gave  me  an 
other  illustration  of  this  power  of  General  Grant. 
A  man  in  New  York  had  been  urged  on  Mr. 
Rollins,  by  a  distinguished  statesman  of  the  day, 
for  an  important  position  in  his  department.  Want 
ing  to  know  about  the  man,  he  went  to  General 
Grant  and  asked  him  if  he  knew  him.  The  General 
said  he  did. 

"  I'm  urged  to  appoint  him  to  a  responsible 
position  in  the  revenue  department,  General.  What 
do  you  think  of  his  fitness  for  such  a  place  ?  "  asked 
Mr.  Rollins. 

"  Well,"  said  General  Grant,  "  if  I  had  to  choose 
between  taking  him  or  making  a  scoop  at  a  ven 
ture  into  Sing  Sing — I'd  try  the  scoop." 

Although  he  was  not  accustomed  to  show  emo 
tion,  and  was  supposed  by  many  to  be  regardless 
of  adverse  criticism,  General  Grant  was  sensitive  to 
the  opinion  of  others,  and  felt  deeply  the  misjudg- 
ment  of  his  spirit  and  motives  by  those  who  ought 
to  have  understood  him  better.  Being  with  him  in 
a  private  car,  on  one  occasion,  during  the  second 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         3 1 7 

term  of  his  administration,  I  sat  near  him  while  no 
one  else  was  by,  and  ventured  to  speak  of  the  love 
which  I,  in  common  with  his  old  soldiers  generally, 
bore  him,  in  view  of  what  he  had  been  to  us  and  to 
our  country  when  he  was  all  the  world  to  us  all. 
My  words  seemed  to  touch  his  heart,  and  to  start 
him  on  a  train  of  thought  about  the  popular  judg 
ments  of  his  course.  As  he  thanked  me  for  my 
grateful  words,  he  continued,  in  a  kind  of  personal 
soliloquizing : 

"  I  don't  wonder  that  people  differ  with  me,  and 
that  they  think  I  am  not  doing  the  best  that  could 
be  done.  I  can  understand  how  they  may  blame 
me  for  a  lack  of  knowledge  or  judgment.  But 
what  hurts  me  is  to  have  them  talk  as  if  I  didn't 
love  my  country,  and  wasn't  doing  the  best  I  knew 
how." 

Then  his  thoughts  seemed  to  go  back  to  former 
days,  as  he  continued  his  soliloquy : 

"  It  was  just  that  way  in  war  time.  I  didn't  do 
as  well  as  might  have  been  done.  A  great  many 
times  I  didn't  do  as  well  as  I  was  trying  to  do. 
Often  I  didn't  do  as  well  as  I  expected  to  do.  But 
I  had  my  plans,  and  I  was  trying  to  carry  them 
out.  They  called  me  '  Fool,'  and  '  Butcher ; '  they 
said  I  didn't  know  anything,  and  hadn't  any  plans. 
But  I  kept  on,  and  they  kept  on,  and  by  and  by 
Richmond  was  taken,  and  I  was  at  Appomattox 
Court  House,  and  then  they  couldn't  find  words 
enough  to  praise  me." 


318         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Then  he  returned  to  present  days,  in  his  quiet 
soliloquy : 

"  I  suppose  it  will  be  so  now.  In  spite  of  mis 
takes  and  failures,  I  shall  keep  at  it.  By  and  by 
we'll  have  specie  payments  resumed;  reconstruc 
tion  will  be  complete ;  good  feeling  will  be  restored 
between  the  North  and  the  South ;  we  shall  be  at 
Appomattox  again, — and  then  I  suppose  they'll 
praise  me." 

That  soliloquy  of  General  Grant  gave  me  a 
glimpse  into  his  great  heart.  I  knew  better  than 
before  how  he  felt,  how  he  endured,  how  he 
trusted,  and  how  he  hoped ;  and  I  loved  him  more 
than  ever. 

In  a  message  to  the  people  of  the  United  States, 
in  the  early  days  of  our  Centennial  year,  President 
Grant  invited  the  churches  of  all  denominations  to 
make  some  special  recognition  of  the  occasion  in 
their  public  services  on  the  Sunday  nearest  to  July 
4,  1876,  with  a  view  to  impressing  its  lessons  on 
the  community.  At  this  I  ventured  to  write  to  the 
President,  suggesting  that  the  lessons  of  our  Cen 
tennial  year  would  have  practical  value,  in  propor 
tion  as  they  were  impressed  on  the  minds  and 
hearts  of  the  children  of  the  country,  who  could  do 
most  in  making  them  effective  in  the  first  third  of 
our  second  century.  In  view  of  this,  I  asked  him 
if  he  would  not  send  a  message  to  that  effect  to  the 
children  of  our  country  through  the  columns  of  the 
principal  undenominational  weekly  Sunday-school 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         319 

paper  in  this  country,  which  I  edited.     Promptly 
he  acceded  to  my  request,  and  sent  a  message  as 

follows : 

WASHINGTON,  June  6,  1876. 

To  the  Editor  of  The  Sunday  School  Times,  Philadelphia  : 

Your  favor  of  yesterday,  asking  a  message  from  me  to 
the  children  and  youth  of  the  United  States,  to  accompany 
your  Centennial  number,  is  this  moment  received. 

My  advice  to  Sunday  -  schools,  no  matter  what  their 
denomination,  is  :  Hold  fast  to  the  Bible  as  the  sheet- 
anchor  of  your  liberties ;  write  its  precepts  in  your  hearts, 
and  practice  them  in  your  lives. 

To  the  influence  of  this  Book  are  we  indebted  for  all  the 
progress  made  in  true  civilization,  and  to  this  we  must  look 
as  our  guide  in  the  future. 

"  Righteousness  exalteth  a  nation  ;  but  sin  is  a  reproach 

to  any  people." 

Yours,  respectfully, 

U.  S.  GRANT. 

The  influence  of  this  unique  message  of  a  Presi 
dent  of  the  United  States  was  very  great,  copied 
as  it  was  into  wellnigh  every  paper,  religious  and 
secular,  in  the  United  States.  The  appropriateness 
of  the  Bible  text  quoted  by  him  at  the  close  of  his 
message  was  recognized  by  all.  Twenty  years 
later  the  same  text  was  quoted  by  General  James 
Longstreet,  in  a  public  letter,  with  reference  to  a 
great  political  issue  then  before  the  country.  On 
the  reading  of  that  letter,  General  O.  O.  Howard, 
being  present,  remarked : 

"  I  know  how  that  text  suggested  itself  to 
General  Longstreet;  it  is  written  on  the  walls  of 


320         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

our  chapel  at  West  Point,  over  the  desk.  Every 
cadet  remembers  that." 

So  it  seems  that  General  Grant  recalled  it  out  of 
his  early  memories  when  he  commended  it  as  a 
lesson  to  the  young  people  of  the  United  States. 
It  is  a  text  worthy  of  remembrance  by  every  lover 
of  his  country.  It  evidently  has  had  its  influence  on 
successive  generations  of  young  cadets  preparing 
in  that  chapel  for  active  service  as  army  officers. 

On  the  closing  day  of  the  Centennial  Exhibition, 
November  10,  1876,  I  was  witness  of  an  incident 
that  illustrated  the  promptness  and  self-reliance  of 
General  Grant  in  deciding  what  was  to  be  done  in 
an  important  matter  of  public  policy,  and  the  ease 
and  simplicity  with  which  he  expressed  himself  as 
to  the  principles  which  guided  his  action. 

The  President  and  members  of  his  Cabinet  were 
in  Philadelphia,  attending  the  closing  ceremonies 
of  the  Exhibition.  By  invitation  of  my  friend 
General  Hawley,  president  of  the  Exhibition,  I  was 
a  member  of  his  party.  As  the  President  came 
into  General  Hawley's  office,  after  formally  closing 
the  Exhibition,  a  telegram  was  handed  to  him  with 
reference  to  the  condition  of  affairs  in  Louisiana 
and  Florida.  There  was  just  then  an  excited  state 
of  feeling  throughout  the  country  as  to  the  result 
of  the  still  undecided  presidential  contest  between 
General  Hayes  and  Mr.  Tilden.  It  was  a  critical 
time.  There  was  danger  of  violence.  Anxiety  and 
unrest  prevailed.  General  Grant  read  the  despatch, 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         321 

and  then  seated  himself  at  General  Hawley's  desk, 
at  the  invitation  of  the  latter,  who  handed  him  tele 
graph-blanks. 

General  Grant  had  put  a  cigar  in  his  mouth  as 
he  left  the  hall  where  the  closing  ceremonies  were 
held.  He  said  not  a  word  as  to  the  nature  of  the 
despatch  he  had  received,  but,  with  a  peculiar 
movement  of  the  cigar  in  his  mouth,  he  began  at 
once  to  write.  Secretary  of  State  Fish  was  in  the 
room,  but  did  not  take  any  part  in  the  proceedings. 
While  the  President  was  writing,  Secretary  of  War 
Cameron  came  hurriedly  into  the  room,  having 
apparently  heard  of  the  reception  of  the  despatch. 
As  he  approached  the  President,  the  latter,  without 
saying  a  word,  pushed  toward  him  the  message  he 
had  received,  and  went  on  with  his  writing.  In  a 
few  minutes  he  had  finished  his  answer,  and,  having 
simply  shown  it  to  Secretary  Cameron,  it  was  at 
once,  without  change  or  delay,  sent  on  its  way. 

That  was  the  message  sending  directions  to 
General  Sherman,  which  stated  the  President's 
view  of  the  course  to  be  pursued  in  the  national 
crisis,  and  which  did  so  much  to  reassure  public 
confidence  in  the  President's  purpose  to  maintain 
law  and  order  at  every  cost. 

It  read :  "  Instruct  General  Augur  in  Louisiana, 
and  General  Ruger  in  Florida,  to  be  vigilant  with 
the  force  at  their  command  to  preserve  peace  and 
good  order,  and  to  see  that  the  proper  and  legal 
Board  of  Canvassers  are  unmolested  in  the  per- 


322         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

formance  of  their  duties.  Should  there  be  any 
grounds  of  suspicion  of  fraudulent  count  on  either 
side,  it  should  be  reported  and  denounced  at  once. 
No  man  worthy  of  the  office  of  President  should  be 
willing  to  hold  it  if  counted  in  or  placed  there  by 
fraud.  Either  party  can  afford  to  be  disappointed 
in  the  result,  but  the  country  cannot  afford  to  have 
the  result  tainted  by  the  suspicion  of  illegal  or  false 
returns." 

As  I  was  within  a  few  feet  of  General  Grant 
from  the  time  he  received  the  despatch  until  he 
had  sent  off  the  reply,  I  can  testify  with  positive- 
ness  as  to  his  immediate  and  unaided  preparation 
of  that  explicit  and  comprehensive  order.  And 
when  afterward  I  read  in  prominent  newspapers  the 
suggestion  that,  in  the  phrasing  of  that  order,  the 
experienced  hand  of  Secretary  Fish  was  to  be  seen, 
or  that  it  bore  traces  of  the  adroit  shrewdness  of 
Secretary  Cameron,  I  realized  that  the  independent 
judgment  and  the  wisdom  and  decision  of  General 
Grant,  in  any  crisis,  were  not  yet  fully  compre 
hended  by  the  public. 

It  were  easy  to  find  evidence  of  the  power  of 
General  Grant's  personality  in  whatever  sphere  he 
was  placed.  Taken  prisoner  on  the  field  of  Mor 
ris  Island,  before  Charleston,  in  July,  1863,  I  met 
there  Captain  Thomas  Y.  Simons,  in  command  of  a 
light  battery  from  Charleston.  He  was  of  the  class 
of  1849  m  Yale.  As  I  knew  several  of  his  class 
mates,  we  had  a  pleasant  conversation  together. 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         323 

He  said  that  he  had  longed  for  this  conflict  for 
years.  He  was  a  secessionist  before  secession  was 
accomplished.  He  was  a  member  of  the  state  con 
vention  that  declared  South  Carolina  out  of  the 
Union,  and  voted  for  that  action.  And  now  that 
the  war  was  in  progress,  he  was  sure  that  it  could 
never  end  except  in  the  independence  of  the  South. 

"You  can  never  subjugate  us,"  he  said.  "We 
would  fight,  if  need  be,  till  our  last  man  was  in  the 
field." 

Later  he  called  on  me  in  Columbia  Jail.  He 
spoke  again  in  the  same  confident  strain.  The 
following  year  he  sent  a  kindly  greeting  to  me 
across  the  lines  in  Virginia,  when  he  found  that  he 
was  once  more  over  against  my  regiment. 

After  the  war,  I  learned  that  he  was  editor  of  the 
Charleston  Courier.  Being  in  that  city,  I  called  on 
him.  Welcoming  me  cordially,  he  said  frankly : 

"  Well,  Chaplain,  when  I  saw  you  last  I  didn't 
think  the  war  would  end  as  it  did." 

Then  he  continued : 

"  But,  oh  dear !  I  was  ready  for  the  end  long  be 
fore  it  came.  We  couldn't  stand  that  Grant  of 
yours.  It  was  his  eternal  pound,  pound,  pound, 
that  did  the  business.  We  would  have  been  glad 
to  go  into  one  great  battle  and  fight  it  out  to  the 
finish.  But  he  kept  at  it  all  the  time.  Whether 
we  whipped  him  or  not  one  day,  we  had  to  go  at  it 
the  next  day,  and  try  it  over  again.  He  wouldn't 
give  us  any  rest.  Finally  we  found  it  was  just  die 


324         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

to-day,  or  to-morrow,  or  the  next  day,  or  next 
week,  and  gain  nothing  by  it.  There  was  no  other 
alternative,  and  we  longed  for  the  end  to  come." 

General  Grant  had  said,  in  his  final  report  of  his 
military  operations,  in  command  of  the  army,  as  to 
his  policy  from  the  beginning,  in  dealing  with  the 
enemies  of  his  government :  "  I  therefore  deter 
mined,  first,  to  use  the  greatest  number  of  troops 
practicable  against  the  enemy,  preventing  him  from 
using  the  same  force  at  different  seasons  against 
first  one  and  then  another  of  our  armies,  and  the 
possibility  of  repose  for  refitting  and  producing 
necessary  supplies  for  carrying  on  resistance.  Sec 
ond,  to  hammer  continuously  against  the  armed 
force  of  the  enemy  and  his  resources,  until  by  mere 
attrition,  if  in  no  other  way,  there  should  be  nothing 
left  to  him  but  an  equal  submission  with  the  loyal 
section  of  our  common  country  to  the  constitution 
and  laws  of  our  land." 

It  was  evident  that  my  Charleston  friend  was  at 
last  convinced  that  General  Grant  had  carried  out 
his  determination.  That  was  a  peculiarity  of  Gene 
ral  Grant's. 

On  two  memorable  occasions,  after  this,  I  was 
brought  into  peculiar  relations  with  General  Grant 
and  his  place  in  history, — once  when  he  was  wel 
comed  home  after  his  triumphant  circuit  of  the 
globe;  again  when  he  had  finished  his  earthly 
course,  and  was  laid  at  rest  at  Riverside  Park.  In 
neither  case  was  it  what  he  said  or  did,  but  in  both 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         325 

instances  it  was  what  others  felt  and  thought  about 
him,  that  stood  out  pre-eminently,  and  that  gives 
interest  to  the  recollections  of  an  observer. 

In  May,  1877,  General  Grant  sailed  from  Phila 
delphia,  on  his  journey  round  the  world.  In 
December,  1879,  he  reached  Philadelphia  again,  by 
way  of  the  Pacific  coast,  at  the  close  of  that  re 
markable  journey.  At  this  latter  time  a  grand 
public  demonstration  by  the  citizens  of  Philadel 
phia  was  accorded  him,  which  concluded  with  a 
formal  reception  in  the  Academy  of  Music.  Vete 
rans  of  the  war,  with  their  friends,  packed  the  vast 
building  to  its  utmost  capacity.  Their  old  colors 
and  battle-flags  were  displayed  on  the  platform. 
Governor  Henry  M.  Hoyt,  in  the  name  of  the  citi 
zens  of  Pennsylvania,  gave  General  Grant  welcome 
again  to  the  birthplace  of  that  American  indepen 
dence  which  he  had  re-secured  to  the  nation ;  and, 
deputed  by  George  G.  Meade  Post  I,  of  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic,  of  which  post  General 
Grant  was  a  member,  I  gave  him  welcome  from 
his  old  comrades. 

Extending  this  greeting  in  their  name,  I  natu 
rally  suggested : 

"  It  might  seem  that  one  who  has  received  the 
glad  greetings  of  all  the  sovereigns  of  earth,  and 
who  has  fairly  encircled  the  globe  with  the  echo  of 
his  praises,  would  tire  of  even  the  heartiest  expres 
sions  of  honor  or  esteem  that  could  come  to  him 
from  any  source  or  by  any  person  whatsoever. 


326         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

But  no  true  man  ever  tires  of  words  of  love  and 
confidence  from  those  who  are  dear  to  him.  And 
as  you,  sir,  have  already  been  reminded,  and  as  a 
single  glance  about  you  would  have  assured  you, 
this  vast  assemblage  is  made  up  of  those  who  are 
no  strangers  to  you.  They  are  your  old  soldiers, 
your  former  companions  in  arms — *  blood  relatives ' 
all ;  and  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  they  are 
very  dear  to  you.  You  depended  on  them,  and 
they  proved  true  to  you,  in  the  hour  of  need  to  you 
and  to  them — an  hour  of  need  to  our  nation  and  to 
humanity.  Because,  then,  you  were  capable,  and 
they  were  trustworthy,  you  had  success,  and  they 
had  victory  and  its  rejoicings. 

"  Here  are  men  from  wellnigh  every  field  where 
you  did  service  and  won  honor,  from  your  Bunker 
Hill  at  Belmont  to  your  Yorktown  at  Appomattox 
Court  House.  .  .  .  Meeting  you  again  face  to  face, 
they  cannot  but  recall  those  days  when  you  were 
all  the  world  to  them ;  when  you  held  their  lives 
and  honor  in  your  keeping ;  when  on  your  sagacity, 
your  courage,  and  your  fidelity,  depended  all  that 
they  loved  or  lived  for — and  for  which  they  were 
ready  to  die. 

"  As  once  more  they  look  on  you,  and  on  those 
dear  old  flags  beside  you,  they  remember  how,  at 
your  order  and  under  your  lead,  they  followed 
those  flags  in  the  storm  of  battle,  or  stood  by  them 
in  the  dreary  siege,  upholding  and  defending  them 
amid  the  shower  of  bullets  or  under  the  crash  of 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         327 

bursting  shell ;  on  the  death-crowned  parapet,  or  in 
the  open  field,  with  ringing  charge  and  counter 
charge  ;  or  on  the  weary  march,  by  night  and  by 
day,  in  summer's  heat  and  in  winter's  cold, — until 
the  weather-beaten,  tattered,  and  bullet-pierced 
remnants  of  those  flags  bear  mute  but  eloquent 
witness  to  the  true-hearted  devotion  of  those  sol 
diers  and  their  great  commander  to  the  interests  of 
that  country  which  under  God  he  saved,  which  he 
has  governed  so  wisely  and  represented  everywhere 
so  grandly,  and  of  which  he  stands  to-day  con 
fessedly  the  foremost,  best-loved  citizen." 

When,  in  the  name  of  his  own  Post  of  the  Grand 
Army  of  the  Republic  and  of  every  lover  of  the 
grand  republic  itself,  I  extended  to  General  Grant 
the  hand  of  heartfelt  welcome,  and  he  rose,  and 
with  evident  emotion  returned  the  hand-clasp,  while 
every  person  in  the  vast  assembly  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  joined  in  the  cheers  that  rang  through  the 
building,  I  knew  that  he  was  having  a  foregleam 
of  the  place  he  was  to  hold  for  all  time  as  the  pre 
eminent  preserver  and  lover  of  his  country,  while 
his  old  soldiers,  who  were  present,  as  representa 
tive  of  all  the  surviving  veterans  of  the  war,  felt 
that  the  trials  and  sufferings  of  that  prolonged  con 
flict  were  not  worthy  to  be  compared  with  the 
glory  and  honor  given  by  the  whole  world  to  this 
great  nation  and  this  great  commander  in  the 
attained  triumph,  in  which  they  had  borne  so  im 
portant  a  part, 


328         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

At  last  there  came  the  end  of  that  life  of  heroism 
and  sacrifice, — the  end  of  the  long  days  and  nights 
of  suffering,  while  the  great  soldier  battled  so 
bravely  with  the  last  enemy  he  must  encounter, 
the  only  enemy  who  ever  could  bring  him  even  for 
a  time  into  subjection.  Struggling  successfully 
hour  by  hour  with  wasting  strength  to  secure  com 
petent  provision  for  his  own  dear  ones,  and  to  pre 
pare  a  new  legacy  for  his  countrymen,  in  the  full 
story  of  his  great  campaigns  in  their  behalf,  until 
all  was  accomplished, 

"He  was  ready  not  to  do 
At  last,  at  last." 

Peace  had  come  to  him,  and  he  was  at  rest. 

When  his  last  heart-throb  was  announced,  it 
seemed  as  if  for  the  moment  the  heart  of  the  world 
stood  still.  Waiting  was  followed  by  weeping. 
As  the  sad  news  was  flashed  from  shore  to  shore 
and  under  the  sea  and  around  the  world,  ruler  and 
ruled  in  every  land  felt  that  earth  was  the  poorer 
for  his  death,  as  it  had  been  the  richer  for  his  life. 
The  nation  which  he  had  saved  and  ruled,  and 
which  he  had  represented  and  honored,  claimed 
the  privilege  of  guarding  his  worn  body  until  it 
could  reverently  and  with  tenderness  lay  it  in  its  final 
resting-place.  In  distant  lands  men  met  in  mourn 
ing  assemblages  to  share  each  other's  sorrow,  and 
to  honor  themselves  in  giving  honor  to  his  memory. 
At  a  special  memorial  service  in  Westminster  Ab- 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         329 

bey,  the  great  of  Great  Britain  thronged  that  Pan 
theon  of  our  race  to  show  to  each  other  and  to  the 
world  how  highly  he  was  esteemed,  and  how  greatly 
he  was  loved. 

General  Grant  died  at  Mount  McGregor,  New 
York,  July  23,  1885.  United  States  soldiers  and 
veterans  of  his  old  command  guarded  his  body 
there,  and  on  August  6  escorted  it  on  its  way 
through  watching  thousands  at  every  stage  of  its 
progress  to  New  York,  where  it  lay  in  state  in  the 
city's  care,  while  a  quarter  of  a  million  of  mourning 
citizens  passed  in  line  to  gaze  reverently  on  that 
loved  face,  more  impassible  now  than  ever,  until, 
two  days  later,  it  was  borne  to  its  tomb  with  such  a 
pageant  as  never  before  honored  an  American  citi 
zen,  while  a  million  people,  as  representative  of 
sixty  millions,  walked  or  watched  in  loving  sorrow. 

At  least  a  half-million  people  were  added  on  that 
memorable  day  to  the  million  and  more  already  in 
New  York  City.  All  business  was  suspended. 
Traffic  and  travel  were  intermitted.  Along  the 
route  from  the  City  Hall  to  Riverside  Park,  fully 
seven  miles,  the  way  was  lined  with  sympathetic 
mourners.  On  the  sidewalks,  at  windows  and 
doors,  on  the  roofs,  and  on  ascending  platforms  at 
every  opening  and  square,  large  or  small,  the 
people  gazed  reverently  as  the  great  procession 
slowly  moved  on.  There  was  no  excitement,  no 
show  of  disturbance,  not  even  any  loud  talking.  A 
quiet  and  solemn  hush  prevailed.  Faces  were  sad, 


330         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  many  eyes  were  moist.  Consciousness  of  a 
great  loss  pervaded  the  vast  assemblage,  and  all 
felt  that  it  was  good  to  have  lived  under  the  imme 
diate  influence  of  such  a  life,  as  he  whom  all 
mourned  had  lived  for  them  all. 

On  an  imposing  catafalque,  drawn  by  twenty- 
four  black  horses,  rested  the  coffin,  covered  by  a 
purple  velvet  pall.  The  greatest  and  the  best  in 
our  land  followed  that  body  to  the  tomb,  accom 
panied  by  a  military  and  a  civic  procession  of  at 
least  three  miles  in  length.  President  and  ex- 
Presidents;  justices  of  our  Supreme  Court;  sena 
tors  and  members  of  Congress ;  ambassadors 
from  foreign  courts ;  governors  of  states ;  army 
and  navy  officers  of  the  highest  grade;  repre 
sentative  clergymen  of  every  denomination,  Chris 
tian  and  Jewish ;  veterans  of  the  Civil  War  and 
of  the  Mexican  War;  officers  and  men  who  had 
fought  against  General  Grant,  as  well  as  those  who 
had  fought  with  him  and  under  him ;  citizens  of 
every  class  or  grade,  from  those  of  wealth  and  emi 
nence  to  the  humblest  in  our  land, — all  were  there, 
and  all  were  mourners. 

Marching  all  the  distance  as  a  chaplain  of  the 
occasion,  in  conjunction  with  the  Department 
Chaplain  of  the  Grand  Army  of  the  Republic  of 
Pennsylvania,  just  before  the  catafalque,  I  had 
occasion  to  note  the  deep  solemnity  and  evident 
sympathy  pervading  that  mighty  concourse  of 
mourners  as  they  fixed  their  eyes  on  the  honored 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant         331 

casket  which  bore  the  body  of  him  who  had  cen 
tered  the  eyes  of  the  world  while  he  lived,  and  who 
was  now  the  center  of  the  world's  loving  thoughts. 
General  Grant's  evident  greatness  never  seemed 
greater. 

A  salute-  of  guns  from  the  naval  vessels  in  the 
harbor  marked  the  starting  of  the  great  procession. 
As  it  moved  along  its  course,  military  bands,  one 
after  another,  played  a  funeral  dirge,  the  subdued 
notes  of  which  fell  gently  on  the  ears  of  all. 
When,  after  seven  hours  of  marching,  the  proces 
sion  entered  Riverside  Park,  another  salute  from 
the  navy  noted  the  approach  of  the  closing  scene. 
Tens  of  thousands  of  mourning  observers  covered 
the  adjacent  hillsides.  The  afternoon  sun  shone 
softly  across  the  waters  of  the  Hudson,  while 
minute  guns  were  fired  from  the  naval  vessels  on 
the  river  below  the  tomb,  as  the  coffin  was  lifted 
reverently  from  its  place  on  the  catafalque  and  was 
rested  near  the  tomb. 

As  the  designated  bearers  came  from  their  car 
riages  to  perform  their  last  sad  ministry,  it  was 
seen  that  General  William  T.  Sherman  walked  arm 
in  arm  with  his  friend  and  old  antagonist,  General 
Joseph  E.  Johnston,  and  that  General  Philip  H. 
Sheridan  was  arm  in  arm  with  General  Simon  B. 
Buckner,  whose  "  unconditional  surrender "  to 
General  Grant  first  evidenced  General  Grant's 
power  to  the  country ;  General  John  B.  Gordon, 
chief  lieutenant  of  General  Lee,  was  serving  for  the 


332         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

day  on  the  staff  of  General  Winfield  S.  Hancock, 
who  was  in  command  of  the  funeral  ceremonies. 
All  felt  then  that  at  last  dear  General  Grant's 
heartfelt  prayer  was  answered,  "  Let  us  have 
peace ! " 

Within  the  wonderful  inner  group  gathered  at 
that  tomb,  while  the  closing  offices  of  reverent 
affection  were  being  performed,  the  scene  was  im 
pressive  and  oppressive  to  the  last  degree.  Chil 
dren  and  grandchildren  of  the  dead  hero  were 
nearest.  President  Cleveland  was  there,  ex-Presi 
dents  Hayes  and  Arthur,  foreign  diplomats,  chief 
officers  of  our  army  and  our  navy,  government  offi 
cials,  and  eminent  citizens  in  every  walk  of  life ; 
such  an  assemblage  of  the  great  and  the  good  as 
never  before  was  gathered  at  a  grave  on  this  conti 
nent.  As  the  last  words  of  prayer  were  spoken, 
and  as  a  volley  of  musketry,  and  guns  from  the 
navy,  marked  "  the  last  of  earth,"  while  all  stood 
with  bowed  heads  and  throbbing  hearts,  an  army 
bugler  sounded  the  familiar  call  "  Taps,"  closing 
with  "  Lights  out."  As  the  penetrating  notes  of 
that  solemn  bugle  call  died  away,  the  pall  of  silence 
was  on  all.  None  seemed  able  to  break  it,  or  to 
move.  The  pause  seemed  an  age.  General  Sher 
man,  grim  old  hero  as  he  was,  realized  the  crisis. 
He  broke  the  silence  and  the  spell.  With  a  quick 
motion  of  his  extended  hands,  he  said,  "  Our  work 
is  done  !  "  All  were  released. 

Twelve  years  later  the  American  people  joined 


Glimpses  of  General  Grant          333 

once  more  in  giving  honor  to  the  memory  of  the 
great  commander,  as  his  body  was  removed  from 
its  temporary  resting-place  to  the  splendid  granite 
tomb  erected  near  by,  through  a  nation's  gratitude, 
for  its  permanent  earthly  rest.  On  April  27,  1897, 
the  seventy-fifth  anniversary  of  General  Grant's 
birth,  half  a  million  of  citizens  from  outside  of  New 
York,  together  with  the  nearly  two  millions  of  its 
own  population,  were  united  as  in  a  common  love 
and  a  common  sorrow  to  pay  another  tribute  of 
respect  to  his  honored  memory. 

The  President  of  the  United  States  was  there,  to 
make  by  his  presence  and  words  the  occasion  one 
of  national  import ;  governors  of  states,  North  and 
South,  East  and  West;  officials  and  dignitaries, 
with  representatives  of  foreign  governments  ;  more 
than  fifty  thousand  soldiers,  including  regular 
troops  and  citizen  soldiery;  veterans  of  the  Civil 
War  from  both  the  Union  and  Confederate  armies ; 
while  on  the  Hudson  River,  in  sight  from  the 
tomb,  were  war  vessels  of  our  American  navy,  and 
others  of  England,  France,  Spain,  and  Italy. 

It  was  like  the  funeral  ceremony  repeated,  with 
the  added  impressiveness  of  the  universal  convic 
tion  that  the  passage  of  years  only  brought  out 
more  and  more  distinctly  the  greatness  of  General 
Grant  as  a  soldier  and  a  man,  and  the  depth 
and  permanency  of  the  nation's  gratitude  to  him. 
Again  it  was  my  privilege  to  bear  a  part  in  the 
closing  tribute  of  the  day's  ceremonies,  by  being 


334         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

one  of  a  detail  of  the  Grand  Army  Post  of  which 
General  Grant  was  a  member,  to  lay  a  wreath  with 
these  loving  words  at  the  door  of  his  tomb,  and  to 
utter  words  of  prayer  for  God's  blessing  on  the 
lessons  of  his  life  to  those  who  have  survived  him. 

"  With  the  placing  of  this  memorial  tribute, 
comrades,  our  service  for  General  Grant  is  at  an 
end;  but  his  service  for  us  and  for  our  country  still 
goes  on.  While  this  granite  structure  stands,  and 
so  long  as  our  country  endures,  his  life  story  will 
be  a  lesson  and  an  inspiration  to  the  citizens  of  the 
great  republic  which  he  saved  and  served.  It  is 
enough  for  us  that  we  were  of  the  mighty  host  by 
which  he  was  enabled  to  do  his  work,  and  that  we 
may  strive  and  hope  to  be  of  that  multitude  which 
no  man  can  number,  who  shall  gather  finally  in  the 
presence  of  the  Captain  of  his  Salvation,  whom  he 
served  and  trusted,  and  whom  we  may  trust  and 
serve  forevermore." 

It  is  a  high  privilege  to  have  been  in  touch,  in 
any  way,  with  the  personality  and  career  of  such 
a  man  as  General  Grant.  It  ought  to  prove  a  high 
inspiration. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

LINKINGS   WITH   THE   NAVY 

During  our  Civil  War,  army  and  navy  were  as 
one  force  in  restoring  the  supremacy  of  the  Federal 
authority.  The  two  arms  of  service  co-worked 
harmoniously  and  with  efficiency  toward  the  one 
end.  While  the  power  of  the  navy  was  felt  for 
good  by  all  who  were  in  the  Union  army  anywhere, 
those  soldiers  whose  field  of  service  was  along  our 
Atlantic  or  Gulf  coast,  or  in  the  vicinity  of  our 
great  rivers,  had  occasion  to  rely  on  the  navy  more 
consciously  than  those  who  served  only  at  a  dis 
tance  from  navigable  waters. 

General  Grant  relied  on  Admirals  Foote  and  Far- 
ragut  and  Porter  for  the  carrying  out  of  his  best- 
laid  plans  of  army  occupation  at  important  points, 
from  his  early  operations  against  forts  Henry  and 
Donelson,  and  against  Vicksburg,  in  the  south 
west,  to  his  final  capture  of  Fort  Fisher  on  the 
Atlantic  coast.  New  Orleans,  and  Mobile  Bay,  and 
Port  Royal,  and  Fort  Pulaski,  were  captured,  and 
made  available  as  bases  of  military  operations, 
through  the  brilliant  strategy  and  the  splendid 
daring  of  Admirals  Farragut  and  Dupont  in  co- 

335 


336         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

operation  with  Generals  Butler  and  Mitchell  and 
Benham  and  Seymour  and  Gillmore  and  Terry, 
and  other  army  commanders.  Neither  army  nor 
navy  could  say  to  the  other,  at  any  period  in  our 
Civil  War,  "  I  have  no  need  of  thee." 

My  regiment  went  out  originally  in  General 
Burnside's  Coast  Division,  which  was  to  co-operate 
with  Commodore  Goldsborough's  command  for 
the  capture  of  Roanoke  Island  and  New  Berne; 
and  army  and  navy  were  as  one  force  in  all  the 
movements  in  North  Carolina.  Later  the  regiment 
was  on  the  sea  islands  of  the  South  Carolina  coast, 
under  Generals  Hunter,  Gillmore,  and  Terry,  in 
operations  against  Charleston.  There,  we  of  the 
army  came  to  rely  more  and  more  on  the  navy  for 
opening  the  way  for  our  landing,  for  protecting  our 
flanks  when  we  moved  forward,  and  for  adding 
force  to  every  movement  in  attack  or  defense. 

Memories  of  particular  war  experiences  in  which 
the  navy  bore  an  important  part  are  vivid  in  our 
soldier  minds  to-day.  For  instance,  our  brigade 
was  ordered  to  take  possession  of  Seabrook  Island, 
in  the  waters  of  South  Carolina,  in  the  early  spring 
of  1863.  Moving  along  the  coast  in  a  steamer 
transport,  by  night,  from  Port  Royal  Harbor,  we 
found  ourselves  in  the  early  morning  in  North 
Edisto  Inlet,  just  off  the  shores  of  Seabrook  Island. 
The  island  was  covered  by  a  dense  Southern  forest 
of  typical  luxuriance.  It  was  still  occupied  by  the 
enemy,  prepared  to  oppose  its  occupancy  by  our 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  337 

soldiers.  We  were  ordered  to  land  a  small  force 
on  the  sandy  beach  at  the  lower  end,  and  move  up 
the  island  through  the  forest  to  a  suitable  position 
for  an  entrenched  line.  Five  launches  containing 
a  hundred  men  each  comprised  our  landing  force. 

Knowing  that  the  enemy  under  cover  would 
naturally  attack  us  while  we  were  landing,  before 
we  were  in  line  to  defend  ourselves,  we  realized 
that  the  movement  was  one  of  no  small  peril. 
Then  it  was  that  our  main  hope  of  protection  was 
in  the  two  monitors  and  a  gunboat  covering  our 
advance  and  protecting  our  flanks  with  the  explo 
sions  of  their  mammoth  shells.  As  they  opened 
fire  on  the  woods  near  the  beach,  we  felt  that  a 
feasible  way  was  opened  for  our  landing.  Under 
cover  of  their  thunderous  artillery  our  launches 
pulled  toward  the  beach.  That  naval  cannonade 
was  inspiring  music  to  us,  and  a  leader  in  our  fore 
most  boat  struck  up  the  "  John  Brown "  chorus, 
which  five  hundred  soldier  voices  joined  in  with  a 
will.  The  landing  was  effected  safely,  and  the 
march  to  the  upper  end  of  the  island  was  made 
with  slight  opposition. 

For  months  after  that  we  occupied  that  island 
with  a  feeling  of  security,  in  spite  of  every  effort  to 
dislodge  us.  We  had  confidence  because  of  the 
fleet  of  iron-clads  in  the  inlet,  under  the  immediate 
direction  of  Commander  George  W.  Rodgers,  of  the 
monitor  Catskill.  On  more  than  one  occasion  when 
the  enemy  came  down,  we  were  enabled  to  main- 


33  8         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

tain  our  position  on  the  island  with  the  help  of  the 
co-operating  navy. 

Again,  in  July,  1863,  we  were  ordered  to  James 
Island  under  General  Terry,  to  make  an  offensive 
demonstration  in  co-operation  with  General  Gill- 
more's  advance  against  Charleston  by  way  of  Folly 
Island  and  Morris  Island.  On  the  night  of  July  15, 
we  were  on  picket  at  the  upper  end  of  the  island. 
The  left  of  the  line,  held  by  our  regiment,  rested 
on  the  shore,  its  flank  being  protected  by  the 
Pawnee  and  a  small  gunboat.  The  right  of  our 
picket  line,  which  was  refused  considerably  in  the 
alinement,  was  held  by  Colonel  Robert  G.  Shaw's 
Fifty-fourth  Massachusetts  regiment  of  colored 
soldiers,  now  for  the  first  time  at  the  extreme  front, 
and  as  yet  untested  in  battle.  A  reconnoissance 
had  been  made  along  our  line  by  a  small  force  of 
the  enemy's  cavalry  the  preceding  afternoon. 

During  the  night  there  was  a  heavy  rain,  and 
there  was  an  opportunity,  under  cover  of  the  storm 
and  darkness,  for  offensive  preparation  by  the 
enemy.  About  dawn  of  July  16  the  storm  cleared 
off,  and  a  sharp  attack  was  made  on  the  right  of  our 
line  by  the  enemy  in  force.  The  purpose  was  evi 
dent, — to  break  through  the  line  of  colored  pickets 
and  thus  flank  and  overpower  our  regiment  at  the 
left.  But  the  colored  soldiers  stood  their  ground 
bravely,  and  only  fell  back  slowly,  skirmishing  as 
they  yielded  their  ground  foot  by  foot  under  the 
pressure  of  a  greatly  superior  force,  thus  enabling 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  339 

the  left  of  the  line  to  fall  back  to  a  position  for  a 
permanent  stand. 

It  was  a  thrilling  sight  that  morning.  Cavalry, 
infantry,  artillery,  and  a  naval  force,  all  engaged  at 
the  same  time,  within  the  sweep  of  a  watcher's  eye, 
in  the  reddening  dawn  of  the  eastern  sky  above 
that  field.  The  attack  by  the  enemy  was  simulta 
neous  all  along  our  lines.  In  front  of  our  left,  the 
enemy  had  brought  down  and  masked  a  battery 
during  the  night,  to  engage  the  United  States 
steamer  Pawnee  and  the  gunboat  Marblehead,  lying 
near  the  shore  for  our  protection ;  and  the  first 
notice  of  this  the  Pawnee  received  was  its  rapid 
shots  crashing  into  her  wooden  sides  before  she 
could  be  swung  around  and  dropped  down  stream 
to  a  position  where  she  could  bring  her  heavy  guns 
to  bear  on  the  attacking  battery.  When  these 
guns  opened  fire  they  soon  silenced  those  of  their 
opponent,  but  not  until  the  Pawnee  had  been  struck 
forty-two  times. 

A  government  steamer  in  the  river  at  our  right 
did  good  service  with  her  guns  against  the  enemy's 
lines  in  that  direction,  and  one  of  our  gunboats 
beyond  Secessionville  opened  a  vigorous  fire  on  the 
enemy's  rear.  We  realized  that  morning,  as  at 
many  another  time,  how  important  was  the  co 
operation  of  the  navy  with  the  army,  as  enabling 
our  bravest  soldiers  to  do  their  best  work  in  an 
emergency,  and  to  have  success  at  a  critical  time. 

It  was  much  the  same  while  we  were  in  Virginia, 


340         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

at  Gloucester  Point,  and  on  the  banks  of  the  Appo- 
mattox  or  of  the  James,  at  Bermuda  Hundreds,  or 
before  Petersburg  or  Richmond.  We  were  never 
at  a  distance  from  the  navy,  from  the  opening  to 
the  close  of  our  term  of  service. 

Yet  while  we  were  thus  linked  with  the  navy  in 
all  our  service  in  the  army,  and  while  we  had 
reason  to  recognize  the  exceeding  value  of  this  co 
operation  of  the  two  branches  of  service  in  their 
work  to  a  common  end,  it  cannot  be  truly  said  that 
at  that  time  we  rightly  estimated  the  importance 
and  power  of  the  navy  in  serving  and  saving  our 
country  in  its  supreme  crisis.  It  is  unquestionably 
true  that  the  magnitude  of  our  armies  and  the 
sanguinary  nature  of  land  engagements  in  our  Civil 
War  gave  for  the  time  a  disproportionate  promi 
nence  to  the  military  arm  of  service,  in  contrast 
with  the  naval,  in  the  work  of  re-establishing  our 
national  authority.  Gradually,  however,  it  has 
come  to  be  recognized  that  the  world  learned 
more  from  our  naval  achievements  on  river  and 
coast  and  on  the  high  seas,  in  that  war,  than  from 
all  that  was  done  by  our  land  forces.  Our  military 
successes  were  not  unparalleled,  our  naval  suc 
cesses  were. 

So  impartial  an  observer  as  the  Edinburgh  Re 
view  said  on  this  point,  soon  after  our  war  closed : 
"  The  important  part  borne  by  the  American  navy 
in  the  contest ;  .  .  .  the  powerful  share  taken  by  it 
in  the  river  campaigns  which  cut  the  seceded  states 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  341 

in  twain ;  the  vast  weight  due  to  its  exertions  in 
the  final  successes  of  the  Federal  generals, — have 
been  but  little  noticed  as  compared  to  the  din  and 
shock  of  the  great  battles  with  which  the  New 
World  rang.  Yet  nothing  is  more  surprising  in 
this  great  contest — no  military,  political,  or  financial 
success  has  more  completely  defied  expectation, 
prophecy,  and  precedent — than  the  work  wrought 
by  this  arm  of  the  Union  forces,  and  wrought  by 
it  in  the  very  process  of  creation  out  of  actual 
nonentity." 

Dupont,  whirling  his  vessels  around  the  battle- 
ellipse  at  Port  Royal,  and  battering  into  submissive 
ruins  in  four  hours  such  earthworks  as  stood  a 
siege  of  months  from  the  foremost  engineers  of  the 
Old  World  at  Sevastopol ;  Foote,  resistlessly  sweep 
ing  up  and  down  the  Mississippi  and  its  tributaries 
with  his  motley  fleet  of  unique  craft,  making  havoc 
with  his  foes  on  shore  and  stream  six  days  in  the 
week,  and  on  the  seventh  standing  in  some  river 
side  church,  or  on  his  quarter-deck,  the  earnest 
and  eloquent  preacher  of  the  gospel  of  Christ; 
Farragut,  even  by  British  critics  "  confessed  the 
first  seaman  of  the  age,"  moving  his  mighty  fleet 
at  New  Orleans  through  the  grim  gantlet  of  com 
manding  forts  at  dead  of  night  by  the  light  of 
flashing  guns  and  blazing  rafts,  bursting  through 
river -booms,  scattering  hostile  gunboats,  sinking 
armored  rams,  eluding  burning  barges,  and  si 
lencing  shore  batteries,  to  bring  the  Crescent  City 


342         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

in  surrender  at  his  lieutenant's  feet;  or  again,  as 
he  stood  in  the  Hartford's  rigging  at  Mobile  Bay, 
handling  his  squadron  of  monitors  in  cavalry  tac 
tics  against  the  leviathan  Tennessee  and  its  atten 
dant  minor  sea-monsters ;  David  D.  Porter,  in  all 
his  brilliant  service  from  the  relief  of  beleaguered 
Fort  Pickens  in  the  very  opening  scenes  of  the  war 
down  to  his  magnificent  fight  at  Fort  Fisher  as  a 
closing  act  of  the  bloody  drama ;  "  Jack  "  Rodgers, 
in  his  lightning-like  destruction  of  the  supposed 
invincible  Atlanta,  in  presence  of  the  gaily  be 
decked  fleet  of  merry-making  civilians  from  Savan 
nah,  with  his  subsequent  hearty  offer  to  his 
complaining  prisoner  to  take  back  his  huge  iron 
clad  and  try  the  fight  over  again  if  one  thrashing 
were  not  enough  for  him;  young  Gushing, — Phil 
Sheridan  of  the  seas, — raiding  audaciously  through 
the  enemy's  lines  to  destroy  single-handed  the 
dreaded  ram  Albemarle  under  the  guns  and  watch 
of  a  vigilant  and  strong-armed  foe,  and  performing 
a  half-score  of  similar  feats  of  daring,  either  of 
which  might  have  made  a  world-wide  hero  of  that 
beardless  boy ;  Morris,  going  down  with  the  grand 
old  Cumberland,  sinking  but  not  surrendering,  fir 
ing  his  farewell  broadside  of  defiance  as  his  vessel 
settled  calmly  into  her  grave  of  glory,  with  the 
dear  old  flag  still  flying  at  her  peak ;  Worden, 
coming  up  in  the  puny  "  cheese-box "  Monitor, 
like  the  stripling  David  to  beard  and  vanquish  the 
defiant  Goliath  of  the  deep;  Boggs,  selling  so 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  343 

dearly  the  life  of  "  the  vessel  Varuna  "  at  the  Mis 
sissippi's  mouth, — Samson-like  carrying  with  him 
to  destruction  the  Philistine  host  of  gunboats ; 
Winslow,  fighting  the  decisive  nautical  duel  with 
the  representative  freebooter  of  the  seas,  in  the 
presence  of  its  scowling  seconds,  the  liberty-hating 
aristocracies  of  England  and  France ;  ay,  and  plain 
John  Davis,  the  Valley  City  gunner,  throwing  his 
body  across  the  open  barrel  of  powder  to  protect 
the  magazine  from  fire  in  the  waters  of  North 
Carolina ;  and  Frisbie,  gunner's  mate  on  the  Pi- 
nola,  when  the  berth-deck  was  on  fire,  closing  the 
magazine  against  the  flames,  himself  remaining 
inside; — these  starred  names,  with  the  countless 
host  of  their  gallant  fellows,  famous  or  unknown, 
who  dared  and  endured  and  suffered  in  the  long 
months  of  dreary  watching  along  three  thousand 
miles  of  embargoed  coast ;  in  the  perilous  scouts 
of  huge  launches,  or  of  swift-flying  gigs  within  the 
enemy's  closest  harbor  defenses ;  and  in  the  ever- 
present  danger  from  submerged  torpedoes,  or  sud 
denly  descending  rams,  or  coast  and  ocean  storms ; 
or  who  went  down  in  a  moment  to  a  sailor's  living 
grave,  as  in  the  original  Monitor,  the  Housatonic, 
the  Weehawken,  and  the  Tecumseh,  —  are  not 
they  worthy  of  ever -fresh  remembrance  among 
the  noblest  and  bravest  defenders  of  our  republic  ? 
Shall  they  not  be  borne  always  gratefully  in  mind, 
for  what  they  did  and  for  what  they  were,  while 
heroism  and  unselfish  devotion  to  country  are  held 


344         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

in  honor  by  those  who  reap  the  fruits  of  their 
patriotic  daring  ? 

As  a  hearty  tribute  of  respect  for  the  ability  and 
worth  of  the  many  officers  of  our  navy  whom  I 
have  known  personally,  I  wish  to  tell  of  four  of 
these — of  widely  different  characteristics,  yet  each 
one  the  representative  of  a  class — with  whom  I 
was  brought  into  somewhat  intimate  relations  in  a 
Southern  prison,  or  in  active  service  on  the  South 
ern  coast. 

First  there  was  Lieutenant  Benjamin  H.  Porter, 
— "  Ben  Porter  "  as  he  was  commonly  called, — an 
admirable  specimen  of  the  wide-awake,  enthusiastic 
American  sailor-boy ;  for  boy  he  was  to  the  last, 
being  barely  twenty  years  old  when  he  yielded  his 
noble  young  life  in  the  assaulting  column  at  Fort 
Fisher,  after  four  years  of  active  naval  service. 
When  about  fifteen,  young  Porter  was  appointed  to 
the  Naval  Academy  at  Annapolis,  from  Lockport, 
New  York.  This  was  in  1859,  before  the  first 
mutterings  were  heard  of  the  coming  storm  of  civil 
war.  Little  thought  had  he  of  what  was  really 
before  him.  "Just  think  of  my  being  here,"  he 
wrote,  "  going  to  school,  and  the  government  pay 
ing  me  thirty  dollars  a  month  for  my  company ! 
Ain't  it  bunkum?"  The  government  had  the 
worth  of  its  money  from  that  school-boy  before  it 
was  through  with  him. 

At  the  opening  of  the  year  1861,  Porter  was  joy 
ous  in  the  thought  of  his  first  vacation.  His  new 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  345 

uniform  was  a  delight  to  him,  and  he  had  a  boyish 
pride  in  the  thought  of  showing  it  off  before  his 
home  neighbors.  His  letters  of  that  period  showed 
him  utterly  free  from  any  forebodings  of  national 
peril,  or  any  anticipations  of  the  weighty  responsi 
bilities  so  soon  to  rest  on  him.  "  Last  Saturday," 
he  wrote  about  this  time,  "  I  sent  one  of  the  ser 
vants  out  into  town  to  get  some  oysters.  After 
'taps,'  at  night,  we  got  out  our  chafing-dish, 
crackers,  butter,  pepper,  and  salt.  I  got  down 
under  my  bed,  and  took  the  chafing-dish  with  me. 

After   all    was    ready,    P and    H hauled 

down  the  bedclothes  over  the  front  part  of  the  bed, 
so  the  light  could  not  reflect  from  the  opposite 
wall  out  of  the  window.  Everything  being  ready, 
I  struck  the  light  and  lay  down  on  the  floor  to 
wait  for  the  oysters  to  cook.  After  they  were 
cooked,  we  drew  the  table  up  to  the  window,  and 
then  commenced  the  fun  !  We  ate  a  quart  this 
time,  and,  as  soon  as  we  had  finished,  we  cooked 
another  quart  and  ate  them." 

It  was  while  young  Porter  was  thus  fun-loving 
and  careless,  at  Annapolis,  that  the  storm-cloud 
of  civil  war  burst  suddenly  upon  our  country. 
Beautifully  then  did  he  illustrate  the  change 
which  seemed  to  transform  the  people  of  the  loyal 
North.  As  by  a  single  bound  he  sprang  from 
light-hearted  boyishness  to  a  mature  young  man 
hood,  ready  for  the  severest  patriot  service.  No 
more  talk  of  home  leave  and  gold  lace.  No  more 


346         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

time  wasted  in  student  frolics.  "  I  suppose  you 
have  heard  before  this  that  civil  war  has  com 
menced,"  he  wrote  home  on  the  dark  I4th  of  April. 
"  Fort  Sumter  has  been  taken.  ...  I  think  that  the 
Secretary  [of  the  Navy]  will  graduate  the  first  class 
immediately,  and  that  the  third  and  fourth  classes 
will  go  on  leave.  I  think  I  shall  apply  to  be  sent 
down  to  the  Gulf  if  my  class  goes  on  leave.  ...  I 
have  sworn  to  stand  by  the  glorious  Stars  and 
Stripes,  and  just  as  long  as  there  is  a  star  left  I  will 
fight  for  it."  Nobly  did  the  young  hero  fulfil  the 
spirit  of  that  pledge  ! 

Porter's  first  service  was  as  midshipman  on  the 
Roanoke,  on  blockade  duty  off  the  Atlantic  coast. 
That  was  dull  work  for  him ;  and  he  was  glad 
enough  when  his  petition  for  a  share  in  the  then 
fitting  Burnside  expedition  was  favorably  received, 
and  he  was  put  in  command  of  six  launches,  with  a 
battery  of  Dahlgren  howitzers  and  one  hundred 
and  fifty  men.  At  the  battle  of  Roanoke  Island, 
Midshipman  Porter's  battery  was  in  position  on 
land,  with  the  army's  extreme  advance.  In  that 
fight — one  of  the  sharpest  of  the  war  for  the  num 
bers  engaged — that  boy  of  seventeen  stood  at  his 
guns,  under  a  destructive  fire,  inspiring  his  men  by 
his  magnetic  presence  and  irrepressible  enthusiasm, 
and  doing  eminent  execution  by  the  fire  he  directed. 
Admiral  Goldsborough,  Commodore  Marston,  and 
Generals  Burnside  and  Foster,  commended  his 
"  admirable  conduct "  as  "  deserving  of  the  highest 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  347 

praise,"  and  as  having  "  not  only  contributed 
largely  to  the  success  of  the  day,  but  won  the 
admiration  of  all  who  witnessed  the  display." 

After  this  battle  young  Porter  was  assigned,  as 
an  acting  master,  to  the  command  of  the  gunboat 
Ellis,  on  duty  in  the  North  Carolina  waters.  Not 
yet  eighteen,  with  such  a  responsible  command ! 
He  had  an  active  part  in  the  reduction  of  Fort 
Macon.  In  the  fall  of  1862,  on  his  promotion  as 
ensign,  he  was  ordered  to  report  to  Admiral 
Dupont,  at  Port  Royal.  After  several  months  of 
blockading  service  he  was,  in  the  summer  of  1863, 
selected  by  Admiral  Dahlgren  to  explore  Charles 
ton  Harbor,  and  learn  its  obstructions  and  chan 
nel  ways.  This  was  a  difficult  and  delicate  task, 
requiring  judgment  and  caution,  as  well  as  energy 
and  daring.  The  work  must  be  done  by  night,  in 
the  face  of  dangers  from  sunken  torpedoes  and 
from  an  ever-watchful  enemy.  For  twenty-four 
consecutive  nights  that  eighteen-year-old  boy  was 
on  this  service,  while  during  sixteen  of  the  inter 
vening  days  his  vessel  was  in  action  and  he  on 
duty  there.  Night  after  night  he  groped  his  way 
in  the  darkness  among  the  harbor  obstructions, 
and  day  after  day  he  was  active  on  his  ship's  gun- 
deck.  He  found  the  passage-way  of  the  blockade- 
runners,  passed  the  enemy's  forts  again  and  again, 
and  actually  skirted  the  wharves  of  the  city  of 
Charleston.  On  one  occasion,  when  a  boat  from 
the  fleet  was  run  down  by  the  Confederate  steamer 


348         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Alice,  that  daring  and  chivalrous  boy  flashed  his 
lights  and  rescued  eight  of  the  drowning  men, 
although  thereby  making  himself  the  target  of 
guns  from  land  and  sea.  It  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that,  such  was  the  strain  of  this  service  on  his 
nervous  system,  the  brave  young  ensign  would 
at  times  be  so  exhausted  on  his  return  to  his  ship 
that  his  men  must  lift  him  from  the  boat,  and  his 
loss  of  flesh  was  a  pound  a  day  during  the  more 
than  three  weeks  of  this  venturesome  scouting. 

For  a  night  attack  on  Fort  Sumter,  in  Septem 
ber,  1863,  Ensign  Porter  volunteered  to  join  a 
scaling-party,  and  was  taken  prisoner  with  the  few 
other  officers  who  were  brave  enough  to  persevere 
in  the  assault  after  most  of  the  boats  had  been 
driven  from  the  scene.  Carried  first  to  Charleston, 
he  was  soon  sent  up  to  Columbia,  and  it  was  there 
that  I  was  his  fellow-prisoner  for  several  months. 
Prison-life  was  more  trying  to  young  Porter  than 
scouting  in  Charleston  Harbor  had  been,  but  he 
submitted  to  it  as  cheerfully  as  he  did  to  every 
other  privation  or  trial  in  the  line  of  duty.  He 
had  fourteen  months  in  prison.  A  part  of  the  time 
he  was  in  irons  as  one  of  the  hostages  for  two  Con 
federate  privateersmen,  who  were  held  by  our  gov 
ernment  as  pirates.  Once  he  aided  in  digging  a 
tunnel  under  the  jail  building  in  the  hope  of 
escape  ;  but  the  plan  was  frustrated,  through 
treachery,  just  on  the  eve  of  its  realization. 

The  boy  side  of  Porter's  nature  showed  itself  in 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  349 

prison  as  elsewhere.  He  was  the  life  of  the  party. 
He  was  always  taking  a  cheery  view  of  the  situa 
tion.  If  at  times  he  would  seem  to  give  way  under 
the  heavy  pressure,  and  would  stand  in  the  jail 
window  with  his  fair  young  face  pressed  against 
the  bars,  evidently  longing  for  liberty,  the  first  call 
of  a  comrade  would  bring  him  back  to  his  wonted 
joyousness,  and  he  would  spring  to  the  floor  with 
a  hopeful  word,  and  perhaps  follow  a  joking  sen 
tence  with  his  contagious  laugh.  In  a  room  of 
the  jail  adjoining  that  of  the  naval  officers  there 
was  confined  in  irons  a  Captain  Harris,  of  Ten 
nessee,  held  as  a  hostage  for  some  Confederate 
prisoner  under  special  charges.  It  was  a  delight 
of  Ben  Porter  to  put  his  mouth  to  the  key-hole 
of  the  door  and  whistle  a  lively  tune,  while  the 
Captain  danced  to  it  with  the  accompanying  clank 
ing  of  his  chains.  After  Porter  had  been  himself 
in  irons  he  taught  Captain  Harris  how  to  remove 
and  replace  his  handcuffs  and  fetters  without  the 
knowledge  of  the  prison  officials.  It  was  through 
this  instruction  that  Captain  Harris's  life  was  saved 
when  the  Columbia  jail  was  burned,  early  in  1865. 
At  last  Porter  was  out  of  prison.  Passing  his 
examination  for  promotion  before  a  special  board 
at  Washington,  he  was  commissioned  as  lieutenant, 
to  rank  from  the  month  when  he  was  nineteen 
years  old.  He  was  then — early  in  1865 — ordered 
to  report  to  Admiral  Porter  at  Hampton  Roads. 
By  the  Admiral  he  was  put  in  command  of  the 


350         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

Malvern,  flagship  of  the  squadron, — a  high  honor 
for  a  boy  of  his  years,  but  an  honor  well  deserved. 
At  the  second  attack  on  Fort  Fisher,  Lieutenant 
Porter  led  an  assaulting  party  on  the  beach  against 
the  sea-face  of  the  fort,  and  fell  at  the  head  of  his 
men.  He  died  as  he  had  lived,  bravely  and  unsel 
fishly  doing  his  duty.  He  had  lived  the  life  of 
only  a  boy  in  years.  He  had  shown  the  spirit  and 
done  the  work  of  the  manliest  and  maturest  of 
men.  His  life  was  one  of  high  achievement  and 
of  yet  higher  promise.  Ben  Porter's  character  and 
record  are  typical  of  some  of  the  choicest  speci 
mens  of  American  naval  officers  ;  of  those  who  be 
gan  to  do  great  things  in  boyhood,  and  continued  to 
do  better  and  greater  things  throughout  their  lives; 
of  the  Perrys  and  Rodgerses  and  McDonoughs 
and  Farraguts  and  Porters,  and  others  like  them. 
Of  this  young  officer  Admiral  Porter  said  he  was 
"the  most  splendid  fellow  I  ever  knew;  .  .  .  my 
beau  ideal  of  an  officer."  And  his  classmate,  Gush 
ing,  added:  "  I  have  never  known  an  officer  more 
truly  loved  and  admired,  and  justly  too ;  for  the 
earth  contained  few  like  him."  Dear  Ben  Porter ; 
his  memory  will  never  pass  from  the  minds  of 
those  who  knew  his  attractiveness  and  worth. 

The  second  naval  officer  to  whose  characteristics 
I  would  call  attention  was  Lieutenant  S.  W.  Pres 
ton,  who,  although  somewhat  older  than  Ben 
Porter,  was  with  him  for  a  time  in  the  Naval 
Academy,  was  his  companion  in  imprisonment, 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  35 1 

and  fell  by  his  side  at  Fort  Fisher.  Preston  was 
pre-eminently  the  courtly  officer,  the  gentleman 
sailor.  Not  that  his  comrades  were  lacking  in 
gentlemanly  qualities,  but  that  he  was  distinguished 
even  among  them  for  his  courtliness,  his  graceful 
ness,  and  his  remarkable  native  refinement  of  per 
son  and  manner.  Entering  the  Naval  Academy 
from  Illinois,  Preston  went  thence  into  active  ser 
vice  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Civil  War.  He  was  on 
duty  as  midshipman  and  ensign  until  August, 
1862,  when  he  was  promoted  lieutenant.  His 
ability  was  everywhere  recognized,  and  his  charac 
ter  and  bearing  invariably  commanded  respect  and 
admiration.  Under  Admiral  Dahlgren,  in  the  first 
attack  on  Charleston,  young  Preston  was  flag-lieu 
tenant  of  the  Wabash.  Afterwards,  he  was  on  duty 
for  a  time  on  the  New  Ironsides. 

In  the  bold  attempt  by  Admiral  Dahlgren  to 
carry  Fort  Sumter  by  storm,  in  September,  1863, 
Lieutenant  Preston  volunteered  to  lead  a  division 
of  the  scaling-party.  He  was  one  of  the  first 
to  land,  and  he  bore  himself  most  gallantly  through 
the  brief  but  sharp  contest  that  resulted  in  his  cap 
ture  with  the  remnant  of  the  vanquished  party. 
With  Ben  Porter  he  was  sent  from  Charleston  to 
Columbia.  It  was  there  that  I  met  the  two  to 
gether.  My  first  impression  of  Lieutenant  Preston 
was  in  the  line  of  his  typical  character.  The  naval 
officers  were  brought  into  the  jail  during  the  night. 
When  we  of  the  army  were  permitted  to  go  into 


352         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  yard  for  our  morning  exercise,  we  found  the 
new  comers  there.  Preston  I  remember  seeing  at 
the  hydrant,  washing.  His  clear  complexion,  fine 
features,  intelligent  face,  and  bared  chest — his  skin 
fair  as  a  woman's — stamped  him  as  a  gentleman  of 
unusual  delicacy  and  refinement.  I  was  drawn  to 
him  from  the  start.  Then  we  were  shut  up  to 
gether  for  months,  and  I  learned  to  admire  him 
more  and  more.  He  was  a  man  of  cultivated 
tastes  and  faculties,  well  read,  and  well  informed. 
He  had  a  poetic  mind,  with  a  transcendental  turn, 
and  a  love  of  the  mystical.  Nor  did  he  neglect 
special  studies  in  science  and  languages  during  his 
long  imprisonment.  He  was  a  fine  conversation 
alist.  He  had  a  high  sense  of  honor,  and  a  sensi 
tive  conscience.  And  he  was  remarkably  pure  in 
thought  and  speech.  There  was  withal  a  love  of 
adventure  and  a  touch  of  romance  in  his  nature, 
that,  with  his  other  qualities,  would  have  fitted  him 
for  a  prominent  place  in  the  age  of  chivalry. 

During  his  imprisonment  his  handsome  face 
attracted  attention  at  the  jail  windows  looking  out 
on  the  public  square  of  the  Palmetto  State  capital, 
and  a  love  affair  was  the  result, — one  which  by 
itself  would  form  the  substantial  basis  of  a  glowing 
poem  or  a  thrilling  novel.  There  were  all  the  de 
sired  accessories ;  the  imprisoned  brave  and  hand 
some  hero,  the  wealthy  and  beautiful  young  lady, 
the  clandestine  correspondence,  the  bribed  guards, 
the  temporary  release  of  the  young  officer,  the 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  353 

midnight  meeting  and  the  plighted  troth,  the  hero's 
return  to  captivity,  his  final  release  from  imprison 
ment,  and  his  death  in  the  battle's  front  before  the 
nuptials  could  be  celebrated.  That  picture  of  life 
and  love  stood  out  in  bright  colors  against  the 
dark  background  of  prison  gloom  before  those  who 
were  fellow-captives  in  Columbia;  and  it  is  told 
and  re-told  among  the  survivors  to-day. 

After  fourteen  months  of  imprisonment  Preston 
was  again  at  liberty.  Refusing  a  proffered  leave 
of  absence,  he  was  assigned  to  duty  with  the  North 
Atlantic  Squadron,  and  became  Admiral  Porter's 
flag-lieutenant  on  the  Malvern.  In  the  second 
attack  on  Fort  Fisher  he  went  on  shore  with  the 
storming  party,  and  had  charge  of  an  intrenching 
force  in  advance  of  the  main  column  moving 
against  the  sea-face  of  the  fort.  He  went  into 
action  in  full  uniform,  in  accordance  with  the 
traditional  etiquette  of  the  navy,  and  was  conse 
quently  a  conspicuous  mark  for  the  enemy's  sharp 
shooters.  The  special  service  assigned  to  him  in 
this  action  was  completed,  and  just  as  he  had 
reported  his  work  finished,  and  asked  of  his  com 
manding  officer  what  further  duty  he  could  per 
form,  he  fell  mortally  wounded.  He  was  the 
courtly  gentleman  to  the  last.  As  I  was  told  by  a 
comrade  who  lay  near  him,  when  Preston  found 
that  he  was  dying  he  turned  himself  on  his  back  on 
the  beach,  straightened  out  his  handsome  form  to 
the  full,  reached  up  his  arms,  and,  with  both  hands 


354         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

carefully  gathered  under  his  head  the  soft  sand  and 
a  tuft  or  two  of  the  shore-grass,  as  a  supporting 
pillow,  then  folded  his  arms  with  his  gloved  hands 
across  his  chest,  and  composed  himself  to  die. 

Although  Porter  and  Preston  are  named  by  me 
as  illustrating  different  types  of  the  naval  officer, 
they  had  much  in  common  in  their  characters,  as 
they  had  in  their  experiences.  Their  common 
qualities  are  well  brought  out  in  the  tribute  to 
their  memory  by  Fleet-Captain  Breese,  in  his 
official  report  of  their  death  to  Admiral  Porter. 
He  says  of  them :  "  Preston,  after  accomplishing 
most  splendidly  the  work  assigned  him  by  you, — 
which  was  both  dangerous  and  laborious,  under 
constant  fire, — came  to  me,  as  my  aide,  for  orders, 
showing  no  flagging  of  spirit  or  body,  and,  return 
ing  from  the  rear,  whither  he  had  been  sent,  fell — 
among  the  foremost  at  the  front — as  he  had  lived, 
the  thorough  embodiment  of  a  United  States  officer. 
Porter,  conspicuous  by  his  figure  and  uniform,  as 
well  as  by  his  great  gallantry,  claimed  the  right  to 
lead  the  headmost  column,  with  the  Malvern's  men 
he  had  taken  with  him,  carrying  your  flag,  and  fell 
at  its  very  head.  Two  more  noble  spirits  the  world 
never  saw,  nor  had  the  navy  ever  two  more  in 
trepid  men.  Young,  talented,  and  handsome,  the 
bravest  of  the  brave,  pure  in  their  lives,  surely  their 
names  deserve  something  more  than  a  passing 
mention,  and  are  worthy  to  be  handed  down  to 
posterity  with  the  greatest  and  best  of  naval 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  355 

heroes.  ...  I  must  speak  of  their  singleness  of 
purpose  to  do  their  whole  duty;  always  cheerful 
and  willing,  desirous  of  undertaking  anything  which 
might  redound  to  the  credit  of  the  service,  .  .  . 
combining  with  their  intelligence  a  ready  percep 
tion  as  to  the  best  mode  of  accomplishing  their 
orders." 

Quite  a  different  person  from  either  Porter  or 
Preston,  yet  well  known  to  and  respected  by  both, 
was  Commander  E.  P.  Williams,  familiarly  called 
"  Barney  "  Williams.  He  was  a  good  specimen  of 
the  genuine  sailor,  of  the  duty-loving  follower  of 
the  sea, — one  of  that  sort  of  men  who,  under  the 
lead  of  its  officers  of  genius  and  brilliancy,  have 
given  a  substantial  character  to  the  United  States 
navy  in  all  its  honored  history.  Williams  was  from 
Castine,  Maine, — a  region  of  hardy  sailors.  From 
his  entrance  into  the  navy  to  the  opening  of  our 
Civil  War  he  was  most  of  the  time  on  sea  duty. 
In  the  Indian  Ocean,  on  the  coast  of  Africa,  along 
the  shores  of  Brazil,  and  in  the  Paraguay  Expedi 
tion,  he  served  with  credit,  growing  in  the  confi 
dence  of  his  superiors.  For  a  short  time  he  was 
on  duty  at  the  Naval  Academy.  Early  in  the  war 
he  was  doing  efficient  service  in  the  South  Atlantic 
Squadron,  in  command  of  the  steam  gunboat  Paul 
Jones.  He  had  a  lively  engagement  with  the 
enemy  at  St.  John's  Bluff,  in  Florida,  and  made  a 
venturesome  run  up  the  St.  John's  River  to  Enter 
prise.  Off  Morris  Island  he  had  a  sharp  contest 


356         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

with  the  Confederate  ram  Chicora,  while  seeking  to 
draw  off  the  enemy  from  the  wreck  of  our  double- 
turreted  monitor  Keokuk. 

In  September,  1863,  Williams  was  in  command 
of  a  division  of  the  assaulting  column  in  the  night 
attack  from  the  navy  on  Fort  Sumter.  He  there 
bore  himself  most  gallantly,  and  his  subsequent 
feeling  was  that  had  he  been  well  supported  by  his 
entire  force  the  move  would  have  been  successful. 
He  was  taken  prisoner  at  the  same  time  with 
Porter  and  Preston,  who  were  his  juniors,  and  with 
them  he  came  to  Columbia.  In  prison  he  was  the 
ranking  naval  officer,  and  as  such  was  looked  up  to 
with  respect  by  his  comrades.  His  characteristics 
stood  out  there  as  elsewhere.  He  chafed  less  in 
confinement  than  some  others,  he  adapted  himself 
more  easily  to  the  situation.  The  prevailing  desire 
in  his  mind  was  not  a  love  of  adventure,  nor  a  wish 
for  promotion  and  renown ;  it  was  to  do  a  sailor's 
duty  wherever  his  lot  was  cast ;  hence  he  could  be 
more  contented  in  prison,  when  he  must  be  there. 
There  was,  moreover,  a  genial  heartiness  about  the 
man  which  attached  his  friends  to  him  warmly. 
He  did  much  to  make  the  prison  life  endurable  to 
others,  and  he  is  remembered  most  pleasantly  by 
his  Richland  Jail  companions.  He  naturally  longed 
for  liberty,  and  he  was  engaged  in  more  than  one 
unsuccessful  plan  of  escape.  He  had  a  most  trying 
experience  while  held  in  irons  for  several  months 
as  one  of  the  hostages  for  Beale  and  McGuire,  who 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  357 

were  on  trial  for  piracy;  yet  even  this  he  could 
stand  better  than  young  Porter,  who  was  his  com 
panion  in  it  all.  When,  after  fourteen  months  of 
imprisonment,  Williams,  with  his  brother-officers, 
was  again  at  liberty,  he  had  no  such  brilliant  ser 
vice,  nor  such  a  tragic  end  in  battle,  as  gives  point 
to  the  story  of  Preston  and  Porter.  He  survived 
the  war,  and  after  it  was  all  over  I  more  than  once 
recalled  with  him  its  varied  and  thrilling  experi 
ences  as  I  visited  him  in  his  Roxbury  home,  or  at 
his  office  at  the  naval  rendezvous  in  Boston. 

Yet  Commander  Williams  died  a  sailor's  death — 
died  as  bravely  and  as  grandly  as  either  of  his 
prison  comrades, — died  a  death  which  entitles  his 
memory  to  love  and  honor  from  all.  It  was  on  the 
afternoon  of  January  24,  1870,  that  Williams,  in 
command  of  the  sloop-of-war  Oneida,  left  the  port 
of  Yokohama,  Japan,  to  return  to  the  United  States 
after  a  three  years'  cruise.  When  fifteen  miles 
from  port,  in  the  Bay  of  Yeddo,  after  the  darkness 
of  night  had  shut  in,  the  Oneida  was  run  into  by 
the  British  mail-steamer  Bombay,  bound  for  Yoko 
hama,  and  cut  down  to  the  water's  edge.  Com 
mander  Williams  was  in  his  cabin  at  the  time.  He 
was  in  a  reclining-chair,  having  fallen  asleep,  per 
haps  to  dream  of  home,  when  the  shock  of  the 
collision  came,  and  he  was  thrown  violently  to  the 
cabin-floor,  while  the  water  rushed  in  upon  him, 
and  the  sounds  of  confusion  were  heard  on  the 
deck  above.  In  an  instant  he  was  on  deck,  as  calm 


358         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  collected  as  if  nothing  unusual  demanded  atten 
tion.  Seeing  the  lights  of  the  moving  steamer 
which  had  done  the  foul  deed,  he  at  once  compre 
hended  the  situation. 

"  I  told  him,"  says  one  of  his  surviving  officers, 
"that  the  ship  had  ported  her  helm  and  cut  us 
down." 

"  I  know  it,  sir,"  he  quietly  replied ;  and,  with  a 
sailor's  instinct,  added,  "  Let  us  save  the  ship." 

But  the  ship  was  not  to  be  saved.  His  executive 
officer  came  up  and  reported : 

"  Captain,  we  shall  sink  by  the  stern  in  three 
minutes,"  urging  him  at  the  same  time  to  take  at 
once  to  one  of  the  two  remaining  boats.  His  own 
safety  was  not,  however,  the  thought  of  Com 
mander  Williams  at  such  a  time  as  that.  There 
were  twenty-four  officers  and  one  hundred  and 
fifty-two  men  on  that  vessel,  and  he  was  respon 
sible  for  them  all.  He  would  not  desert  his  ship 
while  they  were  on  it  in  peril. 

"  I  saw  him,"  said  one  of  his  sailors,  "  on  the  port 
side  of  the  bridge,  one  hand  resting  on  the  iron  rail 
of  the  bridge,  and  the  other  on  the  gunwale  of  the 
first  cutter.  I  said  to  him,  '  Captain,  you  had 
better  get  into  this  boat!'  and  he  answered  me, 
'  Never  mind  me ;  I  will  go  down  with  the  ship ; 
you  stay  in  the  boat.' " 

And  there,  unmoved,  he  stood, — stood  at  the 
post  of  duty,  even  when  standing  there  took  him 
under  forty  fathoms  of  water.  Twenty-one  officers 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  359 

and  ninety-five  men  went  with  him  to  the  bottom. 
There  was  no  scramble  for  places  of  safety;  no 
neglect  of  discipline.  Those  who  left  the  ship  did 
so  under  orders ;  those  who  went  down  with  it 
were  where  for  the  time  they  belonged. 

It  was  no  false  pride,  no  undue  sensitiveness  to 
his  reputation,  which  made  Commander  Williams 
ready  to  sink  with  his  ship.  His  life  was  a  life  of 
duty, — a  sailor's  duty, — duty  to  his  vessel,  duty  to 
his  flag,  duty  to  his  country;  his  death  was  con 
sistent  with  his  life.  It  is  examples  like  his  that 
make  discipline  and  coolness  and  heroic  unselfish 
ness  possible  in  such  a  scene  of  disaster  on  the 
seas,  and  that  secure  the  safety  of  many  who  would 
otherwise  be  lost,  and  the  honor  of  those  who 
perish.  How  much  better  it  is  to  thus  conform  to 
the  scriptural  duty  of  being  "  faithful  unto  death  " 
than  to  heed  the  godless  suggestion  that  "  self- 
preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature  "  ! 

Fourth  on  the  list  of  naval  officers  whose  memo 
ries  I  am  now  recalling,  and  chief  of  all,  comes 
Captain  George  W.  Rodgers.  He  stands  out  in 
my  mind  as  distinctively  the  Christian  officer, — a 
naval  Havelock  or  Hedley  Vicars.  Yet  he  com 
bined  the  choicest  qualities  of  the  other  three 
officers  of  whom  I  have  told.  Like  Ben  Porter,  as 
a  youth  George  Rodgers  had  gallantry,  attractive 
ness,  and  promise.  He  was,  like  Preston,  a  refined 
and  polished  gentleman.  No  less  than  Williams 
was  he  the  skilled  and  duty-loving  seaman.  And 


360         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

over  and  above  all  he  was  the  pronounced  and 
consistent  Christian,  whose  sincerity  and  earnest 
ness  in  the  service  of  the  Captain  of  our  Salva 
tion  were  recognized  by  all  who  knew  him. 

George  Rodgers  was,  as  it  were,  born  into  the 
navy.  He  was  a  son  of  Commodore  George  W. 
Rodgers,  who  for  his  services  in  the  War  of  1812 
received  a  sword  from  his  native  state,  and  from 
Congress  a  gold  medal  and  a  vote  of  thanks;  a 
nephew  of  Commodore  John  Rodgers,  who  fired 
the  first  gun  of  that  war,  and  was  for  some  years 
senior  officer  of  our  navy;  a  cousin  of  Admiral 
John  Rodgers,  and  a  brother  of  Admiral  C.  Ray 
mond  Rodgers.  This  on  his  father's  side.  His 
mother  was  a  daughter  of  the  first  Commodore 
Perry ;  a  sister  of  Commodore  Oliver  Hazard  Perry, 
of  Lake  Erie  fame;  of  Commodore  M.  C.  Perry, 
who  opened  Japan  to  our  commerce;  of  the  two 
young  Perrys  who  commanded  under  McDonough 
at  Lake  Champlain ;  and  of  Ensign  Alexander 
Perry,  who  at  ten  years  old  served  so  bravely  at 
Lake  Erie  as  to  win  the  thanks  of  Congress  and  a 
sword  of  honor.  In  army  service  his  grandfather 
was  Colonel  Rodgers,  who  commanded  the  Mary 
land  line  in  the  Revolutionary  War ;  an  uncle  was 
Colonel  Robert  Rodgers,  of  the  Third  Massachu 
setts  Infantry  in  our  Civil  War  ;  one  of  his  brothers 
was  Lieutenant  Alexander  Rodgers,  who  fell  at 
Chapultepec  ;  another  brother  was  for  a  time  in  the 
quartermaster's  department ;  and  a  brother-in-law, 


Linking s  ivith  the  Navy  361 

Lieutenant  Smith,  went  down  in  mid-ocean  in  com 
mand  of  troops  on  the  San  Francisco. 

Thus  George  Rodgers  seemed  predestined  to  the 
United  States  service,  and  by  his  own  free  will  he 
was  in  the  navy  from  boyhood,  entering  it  before 
he  was  fourteen  years  old.  It  is  unnecessary  here 
to  speak  of  the  varied  service  to  which  he  was 
called  before  our  Civil  War,  the  opening  of  which 
found  him  an  instructor  at  the  Naval  Academy  at 
Annapolis,  giving  the  impress  of  his  character  and 
spirit  to  the  young  men  like  Preston  and  Porter 
and  Gushing,  who  were  there  preparing  for  a 
greater  work  than  they  yet  suspected.  My  pur 
pose  is  to  speak  of  him  in  his  distinctive  character 
istics,  as  I  saw  them  during  my  intercourse  with 
him  in  the  latter  months  of  his  life. 

I  had  known  George  Rodgers  in  his  mother's 
home,  in  the  days  of  my  boyhood.  In  war  time  I 
first  met  him  again  in  the  waters  of  South  Caro 
lina,  in  the  spring  of  1863,  where  he  was  in  com 
mand  of  the  fleet  of  ironclads  in  North  Edisto  Inlet. 
My  regiment,  as  I  have  already  said,  was  then  on 
duty  on  Seabrook  Island.  He  called  on  me  there, 
and  invited  me  to  visit  him  on  his  vessel,  the 
monitor  Catskill.  On  the  occasion  of  my  first 
dining  with  him,  I  was  impressed  with  the  sym 
metry  of  his  Christian  character.  Our  only  com 
panion  at  table  was  my  tent-mate  and  loved  friend, 
Adjutant  Camp,  the  "Knightly  Soldier."  As  we 
three  sat  together,  the  steward  brought  wine  to  us. 


362         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

The  adjutant  and  I  declined  it.  "  Would  you  like 
a  lighter  wine  than  this  ? "  asked  Commander 
Rodgers.  "  Thank  you,  no,"  was  the  reply  from 
each  of  us.  "  Do  neither  of  you  drink  wine  ?  " 
"  Neither  of  us."  "  Then,  steward,  you  can  remove 
the  wine,"  he  said.  "  I  have  not  used  wine  for 
twenty  years."  Strictly  abstemious  himself,  he  did 
not  force  his  views  upon  others.  It  was  only  when 
he  found  that  we  three  were  in  accord  on  this  point 
that  he  told  of  his  practice  of  total  abstinence. 

Then,  in  the  freedom  of  after-dinner  chat,  he 
spoke  of  his  interest  in  the  religious  welfare  of  his 
men.  He  had  already  invited  me  to  come,  when  I 
could,  and  preach  on  his  vessel  on  a  Sunday,  or  on 
a  week-day  evening.  I  now  learned  that,  while  an 
Episcopalian,  and  accustomed  to  the  more  formal 
services  of  that  communion,  he  would  leave  his  cabin 
of  a  Sunday  evening,  and,  despite  the  barrier  which 
necessarily  separates  officers  and  men  in  the  disci 
pline  of  a  man-of-war,  would  lead  a  social  prayer- 
meeting  among  the  men  of  his  command.  Reading 
a  portion  of  Scripture,  he  would  make  familiar 
comments  on  it,  would  lead  in  prayer  and  singing, 
and  then  would  call  on  one  and  another  of  his 
godly  sailors  to  take  part  in  the  meeting  at  their 
pleasure.  As  we  talked  together  of  such  work  as 
this,  he  raised  a  cushion  from  one  of  his  cabin 
seats,  and  opened  below  it  a  locker  stowed  with 
religious  books  and  papers,  of  which  he  kept  a 
supply  for  distribution  among  his  men. 


Linkings  with  the  Navy  363 

The  impressions  of  that  first  visit  to  his  vessel 
were  deepened  in  my  mind  by  all  our  subsequent 
intercourse.  I  was  frequently  with  him  on  ship 
and  shore.  He  made  an  arrangement  with  my 
honored  commander,  General  "  Tom "  Stevenson, 
to  signal  to  him  from  headquarters  when  the 
church  call  notified  a  religious  service  in  our 
camp ;  and  he  rarely  failed  of  coming  at  once  on 
shore  for  a  part  in  the  service.  I  had  many  de 
lightful  conversations  with  him ;  and  latterly  his 
increasing  spirituality  and  interest  in  religious 
themes  forced  upon  me  a  conviction  that  he  was 
ripening  for  heaven.  I  had  never  seen  anything 
of  this  nature  so  marked  in  one  in  full  health.  It 
was  not  a  presentiment  of  death,  for  he  appar 
ently  had  no  anticipation  of  his  speedy  decease. 
Neither  was  there  gloom  in  his  manner.  He  was 
always  cheerful,  and  seemed  thoroughly  to  enjoy 
life.  But  there  was  manifest  in  him  a  growing 
power  of  spirit  over  matter;  and  his  face  came  to 
glow  as  with  a  preternatural  light  from  the  already 
opening  gates  of  glory  towards  which  his  steps 
were  trending.  Again  and  again  I  spoke  of  this 
to  my  friend  the  adjutant. 

On  the  first  Sunday  in  July,  1863,  when  Com 
mander  Rodgers  had  been  signaled  of  an  approach 
ing  church  service  in  our  camp,  he  came  hurriedly 
on  shore  to  say  that  he  had  just  received  orders  to 
coal  up  at  once  for  a  new  move  against  Charleston, 
and  he  could  not  remain  at  the  meeting  as  he 


364         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

wished  to.  As  we  stood  together  then  for  a  few 
minutes,  and  he  spoke  with  deep-toned  earnestness 
of  the  duty  of  the  hour,  of  the  impending  engage 
ment,  and  of  his  regret  at  losing  the  privileges  of 
worship  that  day,  I  was  more  than  ever  convinced 
that  his  days  in  this  life  were  few.  As  he  bade  us 
good-by,  and  I  turned  with  my  tent-mate  towards 
our  little  rustic  chapel,  I  said, 

"We  shall  never  see  George  Rodgers  again  on 
earth." 

In  a  few  weeks  the  army  and  navy  were  co 
operating  actively  against  the  defenses  of  Charles 
ton.  Adjutant  Camp  and  I  were  prisoners  of  war, 
and  George  Rodgers  was  thundering  with  his  huge 
Dahlgrens  against  Wagner  and  Sumter  and  Moul- 
trie.  When,  in  August,  he  had  been  called  to  duty 
as  chief-of-stafT  to  Admiral  Dahlgren,  he  obtained 
permission  to  continue  in  command  of  the  monitor 
Catskill  during  one  more  attack  on  the  defenses  of 
Charleston  harbor,  before  leaving  his  monitor  for 
his  new  place  with  the  admiral.  It  was  while  he 
was  on  this  service,  in  advance  of  the  rest  of  the 
fleet,  that  a  huge  shot  from  the  fort  struck  the  iron 
pilot-house  in  which  he  stood,  and  shivered  a  scale 
and  bolt  from  its  inner  surface,  killing  him  in 
stantly.  When  I  learned  through  the  papers  at 
my  prison  home  in  Columbia  that  a  prominent 
officer — unnamed — had  been  killed  on  one  of  the 
Federal  ironclads,  I  said  to  my  friend  the  adjutant, 

"  That  is  George  Rodgers !  " 


o 

_e 

C/5 

! 


Linking s  with  the  Navy  365 

"  You  seem  determined  to  kill  him  off,"  he  re 
plied. 

"Ah,  but  he  was  almost  ready  for  translation 
when  we  left  him  !  " 

The  correctness  of  my  impression  of  his  identity 
was  verified  when  the  captured  naval  officers  from 
Fort  Sumter  brought  the  story  of  his  death  to 
Columbia. 

Six  years  later  I  found  unlooked-for  evidence 
that  the  remarkable  change  in  the  spirit  and  ap 
pearance  of  George  Rodgers  was  not  a  mere  fancy 
of  mine,  but  that  it  was  noted  by  others  as  well. 
In  a  sketch  of  this  gallant  officer,  Mr.  William 
Swinton,  a  well-known  war  correspondent,  who 
was  with  him  for  several  weeks  before  his  death, 
said,  "  Latterly  there  was  seen  in  him  a  strange 
unworldliness  that  seemed  to  withdraw  him  from 
life,  lifting  him  above  the  evils  and  confusions  of 
this  '  weary  and  unintelligible  world ; '  and  there 
was  that  in  his  mood  and  manner  which  struck 
his  friends  with  the  sad  premonition  that  he  was 
not  long  to  move  among  us."  And  Mr.  Swinton 
told  of  looking  out  from  his  berth  through  the  open 
stateroom  door,  and  seeing  Commander  Rodgers 
with  his  open  Bible  before  him  on  the  cabin  table 
of  the  Catskill,  or  again  upon  his  knees  in  prayer, 
and  this  for  hour  after  hour  through  the  night  be 
fore  his  fatal  move  against  Fort  Sumter.  It  was 
not  that  George  Rodgers  had  any  fear  of  death. 
It  was  rather  that  his  fighting  was  now  at  an  end, 


366         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  he  was  drawing  closer  to  Him  whom  he  served 
and  trusted  in  peace  and  in  war.  Like  the  soldier 
apostle  of  old,  he  could  say,  "  The  time  of  my  de 
parture  is  at  hand.  I  have  fought  a  good  fight,  I 
have  finished  my  course,  I  have  kept  the  faith  : 
henceforth  there  is  laid  up  for  me  a  crown  of  right 
eousness,  which  the  Lord,  the  righteous  judge, 
shall  give  me  at  that  day."  And,  while  thus 
calmly  expectant,  "  he  was  not ;  for  God  took 
him." 

These  four  officers  were  types,  each  of  a  class. 
They  represent  the  sort  of  men  who  have  been  in 
the  United  States  navy  from  its  beginning,  and  who 
are  still  to  be  found  there.  The  service  which  can 
develop  such  characters  is  worthy  of  honor  from 
all.  The  country  for  which  such  men  live  and 
battle  and  pray  and  die  may  well  have  grateful 
pride  in  the  heroism  and  devotedness  of  its  faith 
ful  servants. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

SEEING   SLAVERY   AND   EMANCIPATION 

One  who  reads  history  as  the  record  of  events 
and  conditions  and  changes  of  long-gone  times, 
has  knowledge  of  history  in  one  way.  One  who 
lives  through  the  events  of  a  great  national  con 
flict,  and  personally  shares  the  excitements  and 
fears  and  struggles  and  hopes  that  eventuate  in  a 
changed  and  improved  national  life  that  was  never 
anticipated  by  the  most  sanguine  of  those  actually 
in  the  conflict,  or  of  those  watching  it  from  out 
side,  knows  history  in  quite  another  way.  This 
difference  is  felt  peculiarly  by  those  who  review 
the  story  of  slavery  as  it  was,  and  emancipation 
as  it  came  to  be,  in  this  country  within  the  last 
half-century. 

It  is  one  thing  to  read  that  in  1861  there  were 
four  millions  of  human  beings  held  in  slavery  in 
the  United  States  of  America ;  and  that,  as  a  con 
sequence  of  excited  discussion  and  embittered  feel 
ing  over  this  subject,  a  fierce  war  between  brethren 
was  waged  for  more  than  four  years  from  that  time, 
at  a  cost  of  millions  of  lives  and  thousands  of  mil 
lions  of  dollars,  resulting  in  the  emancipation  of  all 

367 


368         iVar  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

these  slaves  and  a  closer  union  of  all  these  long- 
estranged  brethren.  It  is  quite  another  thing  to 
have  lived  through  those  prolonged  preliminary 
discussions  and  excitements,  while  slavery  was  the 
present  and  seemingly  the  permanent  cause  of  in- 
tensest  bitterness;  and  to  have  shared  the  perils 
and  hopes  and  despondencies  while  that  fierce  civil 
war  was  dragging  its  slow  progress  toward  its 
hardly  hoped  for  but  blessed  outcome.  Only 
those  who  thus  gained  their  knowledge  of  these 
pregnant  events  can  rightly  understand  what  they 
were,  and  what  they  came  to ;  but  to  them  it  is  an 
ever-present  and  vivid  reality. 

Slavery  was  formally  abolished  in  my  native 
state  of  Connecticut  only  nine  years  before  I  was 
born.  I  remember  old  slaves  in  the  vicinity  of  my 
early  home,  who  had  been  soldiers  in  the  Revolu 
tionary  War  and  in  the  War  of  1812,  and  who 
were  now  living  comfortably  and  were  well  cared  for. 
By  the  law  of  the  state  their  former  owners  were 
bound  to  provide  for  them  as  long  as  they  lived, 
although  they  were  absolutely  free.  Hence,  while 
in  early  life  I  knew  of  slavery,  I  had  no  sense  of  its 
evils  and  no  hostility  to  slaveholders  as  such.  I 
knew  that  slavery  still  existed  in  the  Southern 
States,  but  I  was  taught  that  we  at  the  North  were 
no  more  responsible  for  it  than  for  polygamy  in 
Turkey.  Quite  a  number  of  my  acquaintances, 
and  friends  of  my  parents,  had  close  business  re 
lations  with  the  South,  and  some  of  them  resided 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     369 


there  a  portion  of  every  year.  I  admired  the 
Christian  character  and  the  personal  worth  of 
some  of  these  friends,  and  I  had  no  occasion  to 
be  prejudiced  against  the  South  or  its  institutions 
from  my  early  knowledge  and  associations. 

My  father  belonged  to  the  old  Whig  party,  and 
to  that  conservative  portion  of  it  later  known  as 
"Silver  Gray  Whigs,"  from  its  silver-haired  leader, 
the  Hon.  Francis  Granger  of  New  York  State.  I 
had  been  given  the  name  of  "Henry  Clay"  of 
Kentucky  from  my  father's  sincere  affection  for  the 
man  and  admiration  for  his  political  policy.  I  was 
brought  up  to  love  and  revere  the  "  Great  Com 
moner,"  who  had  saved  our  country  from  disunion 
in  several  critical  emergencies  by  his  successful  ad 
vocacy  of  conciliatory  compromises  on  the  subject 
of  slavery  and  its  extension.  I  firmly  believed 
that  the  existence  and  stability  of  our  government 
rested  on  the  sacredness  of  those  compromises. 
Antislavery  and  abolition  agitation  had  no  sym 
pathy  from  me;  and  in  this  feeling,  up  to  1854, 
I  was  like  many  another  New  England  Whig, — 
opposed  to  agitation  at  the  North  on  the  subject 
of  slavery  at  the  South,  and  zealous  for  all  the 
constitutional  rights  of  the  South. 

But  when,  at  that  time,  the  attempt  was  made  in 
Congress  to  violate  the  terms  of  what  was  deemed 
the  sacred  "Missouri  Compromise"  of  1820,  and 
to  overthrow  our  whole  national  basis  of  compro 
mises,  and  carry  slavery  into  territory  inviolably 


370         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

pledged  to  freedom  by  South  and  North  alike,  the 
whole  state  of  things  was  changed,  and  sympathies 
and  feelings  were  swayed  accordingly.  Not  from 
any  feeling  of  hostility  to  the  South,  or  even  to  the 
institution  of  slavery  as  such,  but  for  the  resistance 
of  unfair  slavery  extension  into  the  realm  of  free 
dom,  I  joined  the  newly  formed  Republican  party, 
and  was  on  the  stump,  in  1856,  for  its  candidates, 
Fremont  and  Dayton.  I  had  been  willing  to  let 
slavery  in  the  South  alone,  but  I  was  not  will 
ing  to  have  slavery  forced  on  me  in  the  North. 
Then  came  the  conflict  on  the  plains  of  Kansas 
and  Nebraska — preliminary  skirmish  of  the  great 
Civil  War ;  not  for  the  purpose  of  interfering  with 
slavery  where  it  existed,  but  to  retain,  at  any  cost, 
free  territory  for  freedom. 

I  was  personally  acquainted  with  many  of  the 
Eastern  men  who  went  to  Kansas  as  settlers  with 
this  conservative  intention.  I  knew  "  John  Brown 
of  Osawatomie,"  stern  old  Puritan  that  he  was.  I 
sat  by  him  and  heard  him  tell,  on  one  of  his  visits 
to  the  East,  of  the  fearful  experiences,  in  Kansas, 
of  himself  and  his  companions,  in  conflict  with 
slave-state  champions.  He  said  nothing,  then,  of 
any  purpose  of  his  to  attempt  the  overthrow  of 
slavery,  although  it  was  but  a  few  weeks  before  his 
final  attempt  at  Harper's  Ferry;  but  the  glare  in 
his  eyes  showed  that  he  saw  more  than  he  was 
telling,  and,  although  I  had  no  sympathy  with  him 
in  his  special  purpose  as  disclosed  later,  I  could 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     371 

not  wonder  that  his  brain  had  been  fired,  and  his 
whole  soul  aroused  to  the  determination  of  rising 
up,  alone  as  it  were,  to  attempt  the  overthrow  of 
the  accursed  system  which  had  wrought  all  this 
wrong,  and  which  was  entrenched  within  the  tra 
ditions  of  centuries  and  defended  by  all  the  power 
of  a  mighty  national  government,  and  he  but  one 
man,  with  God,  in  the  conflict. 

Conservative  men  of  New  England,  generally, 
while  having  no  personal  bitterness  toward  South 
erners,  and  while  unwilling  to  act  with  those  who 
advocated  the  direct  abolition  of  slavery  in  the 
South,  were  from  that  time  less  inclined  to  apolo 
gize  for  slavery,  and  they  grew  more  impatient  of 
such  apologies.  Being  in  Boston  one  Sunday,  I 
met  at  church  an  old  Whig  whom  I  was  surprised 
to  see  just  there,  as  he  had  been  an  active  member 
in  another  denomination. 

"  How's  this  ?  "  I  asked.  "  What  are  you  doing 
here?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you,"  he  said.  "Our  pastor 
preached  a  sermon,  a  few  months  ago,  in  which  he 
showed  that  slavery  was  a  divine  institution.  He 
proved  it,  too.  When  I  came  out  of  church  that 
noon,  I  said  to  my  wife,  '  Mary,  our  pastor  has 
proved  something  to-day  that  we  know  is  a  lie. 
The  next  thing  we  know  he'll  be  proving  some 
thing  that  we  don't  know  is  a  lie.  It  is  time  we 
got  out  of  this.'  So  we  got  out,  and  came  over 
here." 


372         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

That  process  of  thinking  was  going  on  all  over 
New  England  among  the  most  conservative. 
Those  who  saw  anew  that  slavery  would  not  be 
willing  to  let  freedom  alone,  began  to  ask  them 
selves  if  slavery  was  really  worthy  of  a  place  in 
comparison  with  freedom.  A  valued  friend  of 
mine  with  strong  Southern  sympathies,  who  had 
lived  at  the  South  for  a  number  of  years,  was  tell 
ing  me  that  I  would  think  better  of  slavery  if  I 
saw  its  bright  side,  as  he  had  seen  it.  Questioning 
him  about  some  of  its  details,  I  asked  if  it  were 
true  that  in  most  of  the  slave  states  there  were 
laws  forbidding  the  slaves  to  be  taught  to  read. 
He  admitted  that  it  was  true.  I  asked  if  it  were 
true  that  in  such  states  of  the  Union  the  laws 
authorized  the  separation  of  families  by  slave 
owners  ;  and  that,  in  view  of  this  fact,  white  clergy 
men  there  were  accustomed  to  marry  slave  couples 
with  a  formal  proviso  looking  to  the  possibility  of 
such  a  separation,  and  a  consequent  sundering  of 
the  marriage  tie  as  though  it  were  a  providential 
ordering.  He  said  that  these  things  were  so,  but 
that  they  were  inevitable  in  such  a  system,  and 
that  God-fearing  masters  were  not  responsible  for 
them. 

"Well,  if  that  be  the  case,  my  dear  friend,"  I 
answered,  "and  the  system  of  slavery  requires  that 
it  be  made  a  crime  to  teach  one  of  God's  children 
to  read  God's  Word,  and  also  requires  God's  min 
isters  to  perform  the  marriage  service  with  a  dis- 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     373 

tinct  proviso  that  man  may  put  asunder  those 
whom  God  has  joined  together,  don't  you  think 
that  the  system  itself  is,  to  speak  mildly  and  rev 
erently,  a  damnable  system  ?  /  think  it  is." 

And  that  was  my  opinion  before  the  war,  yet  I 
would  not  call  myself  an  Abolitionist. 

The  election  of  Abraham  Lincoln  brought  mat 
ters  to  a  crisis.  The  time  for  discussion  had 
passed.  By  special  invitation  I  had  promised  to 
pass  a  portion  of  the  winter  of  1 860-61  in  the  city 
of  New  Orleans,  in  connection  with  Sunday-school 
and  Young  Men's  Christian  Association  interests. 
My  host  was  a  prominent  citizen  of  New  Orleans, 
a  warm  personal  friend  of  Henry  Clay.  When  the 
result  of  the  presidential  election  was  known,  he 
wrote  me  a  long  letter,  saying  that  of  course  it 
would  not  do  for  me  to  visit  New  Orleans  as  I  had 
proposed,  as  social  intercourse  between  the  North 
and  the  South  was  now  practically  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  Then  he  spoke  bitterly  of  the  "  Black  Re 
publican"  party,  and  of  his  idea  of  its  destructive 
purposes,  closing  with  a  challenge  to  me  to  point 
to  any  single  verse  in  the  entire  Bible  which  dis 
tinctly  forbade  human  slavery. 

I  replied  briefly,  that  I  realized  that  a  visit  to 
New  Orleans  just  then  would  be  impracticable,  but 
that  I  did  not  care  to  discuss  politics.  As,  how 
ever,  he  had  challenged  me  to  name  a  verse  for 
bidding  human  slavery,  I  would  answer  frankly 
that  I  could  not  point  to  any  verse  in  the  Bible, 


374         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

which  taken  by  itself,  and  in  view  of  its  context, 
squarely  forbade  slavery,  polygamy,  or  wine-drink 
ing;  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  I  found  no  single 
verse  expressly  commanding  any  one  of  those 
practices ;  therefore,  as  at  present  advised,  as  a 
matter  of  choice  and  in  the  exercise  of  a  sound 
Christian  discretion,  I  should  have  but  one  wife, 
no  "nigger,"  and  drink  cold  water. 

Just  after  this  came  the  arousing  of  the  North 
by  the  bombardment  of  Fort  Sumter,  and  the  long 
war  was  open.  Most  of  those  who  volunteered  in 
defense  of  the  government  had  no  thought  of  the 
destruction  of  slavery.  They  were  ready  to  do  or 
to  die  for  the  re-establishing  of  national  authority. 
But  however  they  felt  at  the  opening  of  the  war, 
the  relation  of  slavery  and  slaveholders  to  the 
federal  government  was  totally  changed  by  the  new 
state  of  affairs.  Slaves  escaping  through  the  lines 
northward  were  declared  "  contraband  of  war,"  and 
therefore  not  to  be  restored  to  their  hostile  mas 
ters.  Slavery  came  to  be  seen  by  the  army  as  it 
actually  was,  instead  of  as  it  had  been  pictured  by 
its  defenders  and  apologists.  The  whole  North 
was  steadily  educated  to  a  higher  s-tandard  on  the 
slavery  question. 

John  Brown's  body  lay  a-mouldering  in  the  grave, 
His  soul  was  marching  on. 

One  of  my  neighbors,  an  officer  in  the  regiment 
of  which  I  was  later  the  chaplain,  and  in  which  I 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     375 

was  his  tent-mate  and  devoted  friend,  gave  this 
incident  from  his  early  experiences  in  North  Caro 
lina,  which  greatly  impressed  me : 

"  I  was  in  a  negro  house  yesterday,  and  had 
some  conversation  with  the  inmates.  I  asked  one 
gray-haired  old  negress  if  she  had  ever  had  children 
sold  away  from  her.  '  Sold  !  dey  all  sold  !  chil'en 
an'  gran'chil'en  an'  great -gran'chil'en, —  dey  sell 
eb'ry  one ! '  She  clasped  her  bony  hands  over  her 
head,  and  looked  up  at  me  as  she  spoke.  '  Dere 
was  one — de  las'  one — de  on'y  gran'chile  I  did 
hab  lef.  He  neber  knowed  his  mammy.  I  took 
him  when  he  dat  little.  I  bringed  him  up  to  massa, 
an'  I  say,  "  Massa,  dis  my  little  gran'chile :  may  I 
keep  him  'bout  heah  ?  "  An'  he  say,  "  I  don'  care 
what  you  do  wid  him."  So  I  take  him ;  he  dat 
little.  Den  one  mornin',  when  he  all  rolled  up  in 
blanket  'tween  my  knees,  Massa  Green  com'd  in, 
an'  say,  "  Dis  boy  sold ; "  an'  dey  take  him  'way  ! 
O  Lord  Jesus,  help  me  pray ! ' ' 

Another  conservative  friend,  an  officer  in  that 
same  regiment,  wrote  me,  about  the  same  time,  of 
his  experiences  with  the  North  Carolina  slaves,  in 
this  way : 

"  What  shall  I  say  of  the  darkies  ? — these  poor 
people,  with  whom  we  must  now  deal,  for  we  can 
not  get  rid  of  them.  Every  day  they  swarm  in 
upon  us,  bringing  strange  stories  of  fright  and 
flight  on  the  part  of  their  masters,  and  full  of 
strange  hopes  and  expectations  for  themselves. 


376         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

What  words  will  describe  that  compound  of  cun 
ning  and  simplicity,  of  mistrust  and  faith,  of  virtue 
and  vice,  of  wisdom  and  folly,  of  which  the  South 
ern  '  nigger '  is  made  !  Here  they  are,  all  obse 
quiousness,  all  curiosity,  and  all  expectation,  full  of 
wild  dreams  of  deliverance;  full  of  old  traditions 
about  the  coming  salvation ;  full  of  faith  that  their 
prayers  arc  answered. 

"  They  talk  the  eleventh  chapter  of  Daniel  in- a 
manner  that  shows  that  the  prophet's  words  have 
been  in  their  thoughts  for  many  a  long  year.  How 
many  hours  of  sadness  it  has  shortened,  how  many 
agonies  it  has  allayed,  how  many  yearnings  for  de 
liverance  it  has  lightened  with  a  gleam  of  hope,  is 
known  only  to  God. 

"  In  the  dark  woods,  where  the  long  gray  moss 
drapes  the  festoons  of  the  wild  vine,  and  hangs  like 
the  beard  of  age  from  the  mammoth  trees,  black 
men  have  recited  this  chapter  by  the  blazing  fires, 
and  have  hoped.  In  plantation  cabins,  where  the 
wrinkled  beldame  and  the  sooty  infant  bounded 
the  extremes  of  a  slave  family,  black  eyes  have 
wept  tears  of  faith,  and  have  prayed  for  a  speedy 
fulfilment.  And  now  they  hail  us  as  their  de 
liverers. 

"  And  in  their  presence,  hearing  their  sad  stories 
of  suffering  and  wrong,  knowing  the  degradation  to 
which  they  were  born,  all  the  fine-spun  theories,  all 
the  misty  tissues  of  argument  which  have  been 
about  my  eyes  and  have  cob  webbed  my  brain,  are 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     377 

swept  away,  and  I  see  in  its  horrible  reality  this 
monster  evil  of  our  land  and  time." 

It  was  soon  after  this  that  the  way  was  open  for 
me  to  go  to  the  war,  as  I  had  longed  to,  but  as  I 
had  feared  would  never  be  possible,  and  I  joined 
the  Tenth  Connecticut  Regiment  at  New  Berne. 
Then,  for  three  years,  I  had  occasion  to  see  for 
myself  slavery  as  it  was,  and  emancipation  as  it 
came  to  be ;  the  one  a  cause,  and  the  other  a  re 
sult,  of  that  terrible  conflict. 

Whether  slaves  were  well  treated  or  ill,  whether 
their  masters  were  kind  and  considerate  or  harsh 
and  severe,  a  desire  for  liberty  seemed  to  possess 
the  slave  heart,  and  all  were  ready  to  escape  from 
bondage  when  and  as  they  could,  with  the  only 
exception  of  those  who  were  unable  to  take  their 
families  with  them,  and  were  unwilling  to  leave 
them  behind.  This  was  true  of  the  slaves  as  I  saw 
them  in  North  Carolina,  in  South  Carolina,  in 
Florida,  in  Virginia,  and  on  the  sea  islands  of  the 
Southern  coast.  When  some  one  said  to  Mr.  Lin 
coln  that  the  slaves  had  no  desire  for  emancipation, 
that  as  a  class  they  were  contented  as  they  were, 
he  replied  that,  if  that  were  really  so,  it  would  fur 
nish  the  best  reason  he  had  ever  heard  for  thinking 
that  they  were  unfit  to  be  free.  But  the  slaves 
whom  I  met,  or  of  whom  I  heard,  did  not  fail  at 
this  testing-point.  They  were  not  satisfied  with 
slavery.  They  all  longed  for  liberty,  and  all  were 
ready  to  grasp  it  when  they  could. 


3/8         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

On  the  first  raid,  or  dash,  of  my  regiment  into 
the  interior  of  North  Carolina,  in  which  I  shared, 
after  I  joined  my  command,  I  met,  at  Little  Wash 
ington,  an  intelligent  and  kind-hearted  merchant, 
who  told  regretfully  of  "his  experience  with  his 
slaves.  At  the  opening  of  the  war  he  had  about 
thirty  slaves,  whom  he  prized  and  treated  kindly. 
He  went  to  New  York  to  make  purchases,  leaving 
them  on  his  place.  Before  he  left  he  had  a 
free  talk  with  them  to  promote  their  contentment. 
He  assured  them  that  if,  in  the  progress  of  the  war, 
other  slaves  were  freed,  they  should  be,  and  that  at 
their  emancipation  he  would  give  them  a  tract  of 
a  hundred  acres  of  land  to  settle  on,  where  they 
could  be  as  independent  as  they  pleased. 

It  was,  he  said  to  us,  expensive  keeping  them, 
with  times  as  they  were,  since  they  could  not  be 
used  by  himself  or  hired  out  to  others  to  advantage. 
They  were  now  only  a  burden  to  him  financially, 
but  he  wanted  to  keep  them  "for  the  pride  of  the 
thing."  He  bought,  he  said,  several  hundred  dol 
lars'  worth  of  clothing  for  them  in  New  York,  but 
when  he  came  back  all  but  one  of  the  slaves,  and 
he  an  old  one,  had  fled.  A  slave  who  was  too  old, 
or  too  infirm,  to  take  care  of  himself,  was,  it  seemed, 
sometimes  willing  to  be  supported  in  slavery  rather 
than  to  starve  in  freedom. 

In  spite  of  the  kindness  of  this  man's  heart,  in 
spite  of  his  generous  provision  for  his  slaves,  in 
spite  of  his  liberal  promises  to  them  for  the  future, 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     379 

in  spite  of  his  pride  in  their  affection  and  his  con 
fidence  in  their  contentment,  almost  without  ex 
ception  they  had  preferred  present  liberty,  with  its 
uncertainties  and  risks,  to  continued  slavery  with 
all  its  high  privileges  and  expectations.  The  man 
quite  took  this  matter  to  heart,  and  it  did  look  un 
grateful — from  his  standpoint.  But  this  was  much 
the  way  with  slaves  generally. 

They  streamed  in  at  our  picket  lines, — men,  wo 
men,  and  children.  They  followed,  on  its  return, 
every  detachment  of  troops  sent  out  on  a  hostile 
movement  or  for  purposes  of  observation.  New 
Berne  swarmed  with  them,  and,  the  more  there 
were  there,  the  more  others  wanted  to  come  in. 
Of  course,  many  were  doomed  to  disappointment 
in  what  they  there  found  in  freedom ;  but  none  were 
deterred  from  seeking  it  by  what  it  brought,  or 
what  it  failed  to  bring. 

On  one  occasion  a  column  of  troops,  under  Gen 
eral  Foster,  moved  out  from  New  Berne,  and  up 
and  across  the  country,  for  the  purpose  of  burning 
some  gunboats  building  for  the  Confederates,  at 
Hamilton,  on  the  Roanoke  River.  Slaves  flocked 
to  follow  the  column.  Day  by  day  their  numbers 
grew,  swelling  to  hundreds,  women  with  infants 
in  their  arms,  and  little  children,  barefooted  and 
scantily  clad,  tramping  after  them.  They  looked 
on  the  Union  soldiers  as  their  saviors,  and  freedom 
seemed  to  dawn  just  before  them.  It  was  hard  to 
drive  these  poor  creatures  back  into  slavery  again, 


380         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  forbid  their  following  the  army,  of  which  they 
asked  nothing  more  than  guidance  to  the  Union 
lines ;  but  it  had  to  be  done. 

The  enemy  were  already  in  our  rear.  They  sup 
posed  we  were  going  back  by  the  way  we  came, 
and  they  had  effectually  cut  off  our  retreat  by  that 
route*  General  Foster  had,  however,  ordered  a 
sufficient  number  of  transports  to  sail  round  from 
New  Berne  and  meet  him  above  Plymouth  to  carry 
his  army  back  by  water,  and  at  the  close  of  the 
day  we  hurried  across  the  country  to  board  these 
transports  and  put  out  into  Albemarle  Sound  under 
cover  of  the  night.  There  was  barely  transport 
room  for  the  soldiers.  The  slaves  could  not  be 
taken  on  board  the  transports.  Their  faces  were 
sad  and  their  hearts  were  heavier  than  before  as 
we  reluctantly  turned  from  them,  leaving  them  not 
only  in  slavery  when  freedom  seemed  just  within 
their  grasp,  but  to  probable  punishment  and  suffer 
ing  because  of  their  attempt  at  escape. 

That  raid  was  in  the  autumn  of  1862.  President 
Lincoln  had  issued  his  proclamation,,  under  date  of 
September  22,  declaring  that  all  slaves  should  be 
emancipated  on  the  1st  of  January,  1863,  in  every 
state  where  armed  rebellion  still  existed.  We 
were  interested  to  learn  how  this  news  affected 
the  slaves  and  their  masters. 

While  we  rested  at  Hamilton,  as  the  gunboats 
on  the  stocks  were  burning,  we  chatted  with  the 
slaves  who  stood  about  watching  proceedings.  An 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     381 

intelligent  slave,  who  was  assistant  foreman  of  the 
shipyard,  was  a  good  specimen  of  the  shrewd,  reti 
cent,  observing  negro.  Evidently  his  family  lived 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  all  his  worldly  interests 
centered  there.  He  was  not  going  to  say  or  do 
anything,  while  we  were  present,  which  could  be 
reported  to  his  injury  when  we  had  gone,  hence 
he  was  cautious  and  non-committal  in  answering 
our  questions. 

"  Uncle,  have  you  heard  about  President  Lin 
coln's  proclamation  ?  " 

"I'se  heard  suthin'." 

"  What  have  you  heard  ?  " 

"Some  says  one  thin',  some  says  another." 

"  Well,  what  do  they  say  ?  " 

"  Some  say,  Massa  Linkum  says  fus'  o'  Janeway 
all  de  slaves  go  free.  T'others  say  'tain't  so,  der's 
not'in'  in  it." 

"  But  what  do  you  think,  Uncle?  " 

"  Chile,"  said  the  old  man,  looking  his  questioner 
straight  in  the  eye,  "7  don'  t'ink  not'in1.  I  jus' 
Stan's  a-waitin',  an'  keeps  a-hopinV 

And  that  told  the  whole  story  for  him,  and  for 
many  another  in  those  days. 

Governor  Andrew  of  Massachusetts  gave  me 
an  illustration  of  this  shrewdness  of  the  negro  in 
avoiding  the  compromising  of  himself  when  he 
was  seeking  information  on  a  point  of  intensest 
personal  interest.  A  friend  of  the  Governor  from 
Boston  was  at  a  hotel  in  Charlestown,  West  Vir- 


382         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

ginia,  during  the  hurried  trial  of  John  Brown,  in 
1859.  In  the  early  morning,  before  he  had  arisen, 
a  slave  came  into  his  room,  according  to  Southern 
custom,  to  kindle  a  fire  for  him  to  dress  by.  The 
excitement  concerning  John  Brown  was  then  at 
its  height.  Knowing  that  the  guest  was  from  the 
North,  the  negro  wanted  to  get  his  opinion  of  the 
case ;  yet  he  was  not  sure  that  it  would  be  safe  to 
disclose  his  own  views. 

"  Massa ! "  he  said,  "  yer  hear  'bout  dis  man  John 
Brown,  dey's  tryin'  hyar  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  !  I've  heard  about  him." 

"  What  dey  goin'  to  do  wid  'im  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  they'll  convict  him." 

"  Cervict  'im  !     What  den  ?  " 

"  They'll  hang  him — sure  as  fate." 

There  was  yet  no  sign  of  the  Northerner's  sym 
pathies.  The  negro  waited  a  minute,  and  then 
asked  cautiously : 

"  Wouldn't  dat  be  a  little  abrup',  massa  ?  " 

Those  who  were  within  our  lines  in  nominal 
freedom  seemed  impressed  with  the  idea  that,  be 
cause  learning  to  read  had  been  forbidden  them 
while  in  slavery,  reading  was  somehow  a  means  of 
power,  which  they  must  strive  to  acquire  in  order  to 
fit  themselves  for  their  new  sphere  of  being  and  act 
ing,  in  competition  with  the  white  race.  It  was 
surprising  how  anxious  they  were  to  know  how  to 
read,  and  how  zealous  and  earnest  they  were  in 
endeavors  to  learn. 


These  boys  were  poring  over  their  treasured  books. 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     383 

While  we  were  in  camp  on  St.  Helena  Island, 
opposite  Port  Royal,  South  Carolina,  there  were 
twenty  or  thirty  of  these  freed  slaves  who  were 
personal  servants  of  our  regimental  officers,  field, 
staff,  and  line.  In  some  way  they  had  obtained  two 
spelling-books,  or  small  readers,  and  these  were 
in  constant  use  among  them.  Not  only  in  the 
intervals  of  active  work  during  the  day,  but  all 
through  the  night,  some  of  these  boys  were  poring 
over  those  books.  Having  got  a  start  in  their 
reading  from  some  of  the  officers  or  privates,  the 
more  favored  ones  were  always  ready  to  help  the 
others  by  their  knowledge.  They  seemed  to  ar 
range  among  themselves  so  that  all  should  have  a 
share  in  the  valued  helps  to  learning  at  some  time 
in  each  twenty-four  hours. 

As  I  lay  in  my  tent  at  night,  and  waked  from 
time  to  time,  I  would  hear  low  negro  voices,  back 
of  the  tent,  repeating  words  as  from  an  elementary 
school  reader, — "  The  hen  is  in  the  yard.  The  dog 
barks  at  the  hen."  "  Puss  sits  by  the  fire.  She  is 
warm."  "  This  boy  is  James.  He  drives  a  hoop." 
"  Now  is  the  best  time  to  do  well ;"  and  so  on. 
Hearing  these  sounds  night  after  night,  I  was  led 
to  go  out  and  look  up  their  meaning.  I  found  that 
back  of  the  field  and  staff  tents  there  was  built  a 
blazing  fire  of  pine  branches,  under  the  moss-hung 
live  oaks,  before  which  some  of  these  boys  were 
poring  over  their  treasured  books,  learning  their 
lesson  for  the  night.  The  flickering  light  in  the 


384         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

deep  shadows  gave  a  weird  look  to  the  strange 
scene,  but  it  was  a  vivid  reality.  And  this,  I  found, 
was  continued  all  through  the  night,  week  after 
week.  It  evidenced  and  illustrated  the  earnestness 
among  the  freed  slave  boys  in  their  determination 
to  learn  how  to  read,  in  order  to  fill  their  sphere  in 
freedom. 

Those  who  were  too  old,  when  they  were  freed,  to 
learn  to  read,  or  to  gain  the  advantages  of  an  edu 
cation,  were  all  the  more  desirous  that  their  children 
should  attain  the  prize  of  knowledge  which  they 
had  missed.  This  secured  a  full  attendance  at  all 
the  many  schools  for  freed  slaves,  started  along  the 
coast  within  our  lines  by  the  various  missionary 
associations  and  freedmen's  aid  societies  at  the 
North  that  undertook  this  work.  The  first  school 
of  this  sort  that  I  saw  in  operation  was  on  St. 
Helena  Island,  in  March,  1863,  although  I  later 
saw  many  others. 

With  my  friend  and  tent-mate,  Adjutant  Camp, 
I  rode  the  length  of  the  long  island  to  opposite 
Beaufort,  on  a  pleasant  spring  day.  The  scenery 
of  the  island  was  typically  Southern.  There  was  a 
tropical  luxuriance  of  forest  and  foliage  and  all  vege 
tation.  Live  oaks  of  massive  growth,  from  which 
the  long  gray  moss  swung  toward  the  ground,  and 
among  the  branches  of  which  the  parasitic  mistle 
toe  showed  itself  with  deep-green  leaves  and  ber 
ries  like  glistening  pearls,  were  as  the  ribbed  arches 
of  an  immense  cathedral.  Mammoth  magnolias, 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     385 

just  bursting  into  bloom,  were  to  be  seen  on  every 
side.  The  bay-tree  in  its  freshness  and  symmetry, 
the  feathery  cypress  in  its  graceful  delicacy,  the 
flowering  dogwood,  the  wild  hawthorn,  and  the 
towering  Spanish  bayonet  with  its  sword-shaped 
leaves  and  its  snow-white  blossoms  crowning 
the  long  stem  that  looked  like  Aaron's  rod  that 
budded,  stood  here  and  there  along  our  wooded 
way.  Covering  over,  in  places,  the  rich-green 
masses  of  abounding  shrubbery,  were  the  golden 
flowers  of  the  fragrant  yellow  jessamine  vines, 
while  among  the  foliage  the  wild  honeysuckle  in 
its  crimson  beauty,  the  scarlet  yapon-berries,  and 
the  purple  clusters  of  the  wild  plum,  peered  out, 
and  birds  of  bright  plumage  and  sweet  song  flitted 
from  branch  to  branch,  giving  life  and  variety  to 
the  gorgeous  scene. 

In  the  open  space  beyond  the  first  stretch  of 
woods  there  was  an  immense  sea-island  cotton- 
field,  where  black  men  and  women  by  the  score 
were  at  work,  under  government  superintendents, 
in  the  hope  of  a  summer's  crop.  Yet  nearer  the 
shore,  stately  palmetto  and  palm  trees  stood  out 
against  the  horizon,  and  the  prickly-pear  jealously 
guarded  its  tempting  fruit  by  its  nettle  covering 
and  its  thorny  encircling  leaves.  Plantation  fences 
with  gates  divided  the  different  fields.  The  old- 
time  planter's  mansion  was  there,  and  the  negro 
cabins  were  back  of  it.  There  was  a  pretty  Epis 
copal  church  with  a  painted  clock-face  in  its  gable 


386         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

end,  and  about  it  was  a  graveyard  with  stones 
marking  the  resting-place  of  successive  generations 
in  an  order  of  things  now  passing  away. 

At  last  we  reached  a  little  Baptist  church,  where 
we  found  a  negro-school  of  between  one  and  two 
hundred  "contrabands,"  as  they  were  called  in  that 
day,  under  the  care  of  cultivated  and  devoted  Ne\v 
England  women  teachers.  We  were  surprised  and 
delighted  at  the  brightness  and  proficiency  of  these 
children,  as  shown  in  their  various  recitations.  The 
children  themselves  were  the  blackest  of  Africans, 
with  no  intermixture  of  white  blood.  At  the  close 
of  the  session  they  sang  together,  and  their  singing 
was  a  treat. 

First  they  sang  a  hymn  written  expressly  for 
them,  for  the  Christmas  before,  by  John  G.  Whittier, 
including  the  verses : 

"  Oh,  none  in  all  the  world  before 

Were  ever  glad  as  we  ! 
We're  free  on  Carolina's  shore, 
We're  all  at  home,  and  free. 

"We  hear  no  more  the  driver's  horn, 

No  more  the  whip  we  fear, 
This  holy  day  that  saw  Thee  born 
Was  never  half  so  dear. 

"  Come  once  again,  O  blessed  Lord ! 

Come  walking  on  the  sea  ! 
And  let  the  main-lands  hear  the  word 
That  sets  the  islands  free." 

Then  they  sang  some  of  their  native  words  in  their 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     387 

own  way,  and  that  singing  seemed  to  suit  better 
their  tastes  and  feelings : 

"  Death  is  a  little  man, 

Good  Lord,  remember  me  ! 

"  And  he  goes  from  door  to  door, 
Good  Lord,  remember  me ! 

"  I  prays  de  Lord,  when  de  year  rolls  round, 
Good  Lord,  remember  me  ! 

"  Oh  !  I  wants  to  die  like  Jesus  died, 
Good  Lord,  remember  me  ! 

"  To  die,  and  be  laid  in  the  grave, 

Good  Lord,  remember  me  !  " 

And  so  the  lines  went  on,  describing  the  resur 
rection  and  the  ascension,  and  being  repeated 
indefinitely.  Accompanying  the  singing  the  little 
singers  beat  time  with  their  feet  and  clapped  their 
hands,  weaving  their  bodies  back  and  forward, 
until  they  were  aroused  to  a  high  state  of  excite 
ment.  This  they  would  keep  up,  at  times,  by  the 
hour,  we  were  told.  Indeed,  there  seemed  to  be  no 
end  to  the  singing,  except  in  physical  exhaustion. 

While  the  young  negroes  could  learn  to  read 
more  easily  than  the  older  ones,  they  could  not 
sing  with  the  touching  pathos  of  those  who  had 
suffered  long  in  slavery  with  no  clear  hope  of  free 
dom.  It  was  while  crossing  the  salt-water  ferry 
from  Ladies'  Island,  just  above  St.  Helena,  to  Beau 
fort,  on  this  occasion,  that  I  first  heard  this  genuine 
slave-singing.  It  was  a  ferry-boat,  propelled  by 


388         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

half  a  dozen  stalwart  negroes.  As  they  rowed,  they 
sang.  The  bow  oarsman  sang  the  words,  and  all 
joined  in  the  chorus.  The  strain  was  plaintive, 
subdued,  pathetic,  such  as  could  have  come  only 
from  an  oppressed,  down-trodden,  suffering  people, 
disconsolate  as  to  this  life,  and  with  hope  only 
above  and  beyond.  The  words  were  few  and 
simple,  but  they  breathed  a  loving,  longing,  trust 
ful  spirit: 

"  My  Jesus  made  the  blind  to  see, 
No  man  can  hinder  me. 

"  My  Jesus  made  the  dumb  to  speak, 
No  man  can  hinder  me. 

"  My  Jesus  made  the  lame  to  walk, 
No  man  can  hinder  me." 

Thus  they  sang  on  of  the  work  of  Jesus,  and  as 
they  sang  they  would,  at  regular  intervals,  strike 
one  another's  oars  as  if  to  mark  time  and  secure 
harmony.  The  touching,  tender  allusion  to  "my 
Jesus,"  as  if  the  plaint  of  an  innermost  crushed 
soul,  was  inexpressibly  pathetic.  It  beggars  de 
scription.  It  brought  tears  to  my  eyes,  and  made 
me  thank  God  for  the  preciousness  of  that  Name 
which  is  above  every  name,  and  which  brings  hope 
and  comfort  to  those  in  every  condition. 

The  religious  nature  of  the  negro  showed  itself 
in  his  songs  of  work  and  of  worship,  in  his  prayers, 
and  in  his  exhortations  and  responses  in  sacred 
assemblings.  Because  of  his  Oriental  origin  he 
was  necessarily  emotional  and  mercurial ;  and  be- 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     389 

cause  of  his  peculiar  training  in  slavery  he  had  his 
own  ideas  of  morals  as  apart  from  his  religious 
spirit  and  thoughts.  Taught,  by  those  who  ought 
to  know  the  right,  that  he  was  a  mere  chattel  and 
not  a  responsible  personality,  and  trained  to  the 
necessity  of  concealing  his  real  hopes  and  desires 
from  those  who  had  more  power  over  him  than 
sympathy  with  him,  it  was  not  strange  that  he  had 
confused  ideas  as  to  the  limits  of  truth  and  honesty. 
Brought  up  to  look  at  marriage  as  a  convenience 
for  the  increase  of  his  master's  property  posses 
sions,  he  could  hardly  comprehend  the  highest 
teachings  as  to  chastity  and  a  pure  and  permanent 
family  life. 

Yet  it  was  not  true,  as  was  often  asserted,  that 
the  negro  slave  wholly  divorced  morals  from  re 
ligion,  conduct  from  character,  works  from  faith. 
I  saw  this  in  the  first  negro  sermon  which  I  heard 
at  New  Berne.  The  preacher  was  a  well-known 
itinerant  negro  evangelist,  who  had  come  on  his 
round  to  visit  that  city.  He  said  he  would,  by 
urgent  request,  "  preach  a  funeral "  that  morning. 
Then  I  learned  that  where  the  slaves  could  not  have 
the  services  of  a  preacher  regularly,  they  were 
glad  to  have  now  and  then  a  sermon  preached  as 
if  in  memory  of  those  who  had  died  since  the  last 
occasion  of  the  sort.  This  they  called  "preaching 
a  funeral,"  and  it  was  such  a  discourse  to  which  I 
listened  at  that  time. 

It  was  evident  that  the  preacher  could  not  read 


390         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  Bible,  and  that  he  had  misunderstood  some  of 
its  words  by  the  sound ;  but  he  had  manifestly  im 
bibed  the  spirit  of  its  teachings  in  spite  of  all  his 
disadvantages.  He  announced  his  text  for  the 
morning,  as  in  the  "  fifth  varse  of  Mark : "  "  Low  I 
come." 

"  Hear  dat,  bred'ren!  'Low  I  come; '  not  'high 
I  come.'  De  Lord  Jesus  comes  to  de  poor  and  de 
lowly.  Dat's  a  comfort." 

This  was  bad  exegesis,  but  it  was  good  gospel ; 
and  so  in  other  parts  of  his  discourse. 

It  treated  of  life,  death,  and  the  hereafter,  and  of 
Jesus  as  sufficient  for  help,  hope,  and  salvation,  in 
all.  Practical  and  timely  truths  were  put  in  homely 
and  forceful  phrases,  so  that  all  could  comprehend 
them.  Although  intended  as  a  sermon  of  comfort 
to  mourners,  and  of  cheer  to  the  oppressed,  it  made 
no  suggestion  that  mere  suffering  in  this  life  secured 
happiness  and  glory  in  the  next.  Jesus  had  taken 
to  himself  every  follower  of  his,  "brudder  or  sister, 
as  de  case  might  be,"  who  had  showed  loving  trust 
in  him  by  doing  as  he  commanded.  And  so  it 
would  be  with  all  who  were  still  here.  Their 
future  would  surely  conform  to  the  service  of  their 
well-used  present. 

"De  Lord  will  put  yer  in  jus'  de  place  yer  be 
done  fit  for,"  he  said.  "  He  wants  to  give  yer  a 
good  place,  an'  he  will  if  yer  done  fit  for  it.  Yer 
know  how  't  is  yerself.  Some  ob  yer  make  shoes. 
When  yer  gits  a  piece  o'  leather,  yer  wants  to  use 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     39 1 

it  all  if  yer  can.  Yer  looks  it  ober.  Yer  say, 
1  Daf\\  do  for  de  quarters.  Daf\\  do  for  de  vamps. 
Daf\\  do  for  de  fillin'.  When  yer  'zamine  it  ober, 
and  pick  out  what  yer  can  use,  den  yer  say  ob  de 
rest,  'Dar  ain't  no  more  good  dere;  dat  goes  to 
de  trash  pile.' 

"  Bred'ren,  de  Lord'll  look  yer  all  ober,  and  he'll 
put  yer  whar*  yer  b'long.  If  yer  b'long  in  a  good 
place,  he'll  put  yer  dar.  But  if  yer  ain't  done  fit 
for  no  good  place,  yer  got  to  go  to  de  trash  pile. 
Yerhab,  shur!" 

That  was  as  explicit  as  to  the  need  of  works  as 
evidencing  faith  as  the  teaching  of  St.  James  or  St. 
Paul.  And  such  preaching  I  heard  many  times  re 
peated,  by  negro  preachers,  in  various  places  along 
the  coast. 

With  his  imaginative  and  religious  nature  as  it 
was,  and  with  his  peculiar  training  and  experiences 
in  bondage  as  they  had  been,  necessitated  to  con 
ceal  his  feelings  and  his  knowledge,  for  his  own 
safety,  the  negro  freedman  was  inevitably  "a  bun 
dle  of  contradictions,"  sure  to  be  misunderstood 
by  many.  In  one  aspect  he  seemed  the  veriest 
coward,  afraid  of  his  shadow;  in  another  he  seemed 
almost  indifferent  to  danger,  and  at  times  truly 
courageous,  braving  punishment  or  death  fear 
lessly.  To  some  he  seemed  simple  and  unsus 
pecting  as  a  child ;  to  others  he  showed  himself 
cautious,  suspicious,  shrewd;  to  yet  others  he  ap 
peared  merely  stupid,  devoid  of  intelligent  purpose^ 


392         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

thought,  or  feeling.  There  was  reason,  however, 
for  all  this,  and  the  seeming  inconsistencies  were 
not  so  great  as  they  seemed. 

To  the  negro  mind  the  unseen  world  was  more 
real  than  the  seen.  The  negro  feared  God  rever 
ently,  and  he  was  afraid  of  the  Devil  and  his  minions 
almost  abjectly.  In  his  ignorance  he  knew  no  more 
about  the  precise  limits  of  the  spiritual  realm  than 
his  more  intelligent  white  fellows  knew;  but  he  had 
a  far  more  abiding  sense  than  many,  who  ought 
to  be  better  informed,  of  the  sure  nearness  to  this 
life  of  the  spiritual  sphere  beyond  it ;  and  he  was, 
in  consequence,  more  open,  even  though  supersti- 
tiously  so,  to  every  influence  or  suggestion,  actual 
or  fancied,  from  the  unseen  realm  about  him. 

In  accordance  with  the  universal  primitive  belief 
that  to  utter  the  name  of  a  being  in  the  spiritual 
world  is  to  summon  that  being  to  manifest  himself, 
the  negroes  deemed  it  wicked  to  speak  the  name 
of  the  devil,  as  such  an  utterance  indicated  either 
a  league  with  the  devil  or  a  desire  for  him.  My 
first  negro  army  servant  spoke  at  one  time  of  one 
of  the  excellent  captains  of  our  regiment,  saying  : 

"  That  cap'n's  dredful  wick'd  man,  Misser  Chap 
lin." 

"Wicked  man?"  I  replied.  "What  makes  you 
think  that,  Dick?" 

"  I  heer'd  him,  sah,  say  right  out,  dat  anuder  man 
acted  like  de  debbil, — I  did,  sah,  shuah." 

He  seemed  to  feel  that  this  was  proof  that  the 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     393 

fair-appearing,  and  seemingly  well  disposed,  young 
officer  was  given  over  to  the  arch-enemy  of  man 
kind,  and  I  tried  in  vain  to  convince  him  that  the 
good  captain  was  not  totally  depraved. 

A  belief  in  "  hants,"  or  "  ghostses,"  or  "  spooks," 
or  "  sprites,"  seemed  universal  and  positive  among 
"  contrabands."  It  was  not  that  they  thought  that 
there  might  be  such  things  ;  they  had  never  a  doubt 
on  the  subject.  A  lawyer  friend  of  mine  attempted 
to  bring  a  negro  army  servant  whom  I  well  knew 
to  the  limits  of  positive  proof,  when  this  subject 
came  under  discussion. 

"Do  you  believe  in  ghosts,  Henry?" 

"B'lieve  in  'em,  sah?  What  d'ye  mean,  sah  ?  " 
as  if  he  could  not  understand  such  an  absurd  and 
unmeaning  question. 

"Do  you  believe  that  there  are  such  things?" 

"B'lieve  it,  sah?  I  know  thar  be,  sah,"  he  re 
plied,  with  a  pitying  smile  at  the  questioner's 
skepticism. 

"Did  you  ever  see  a  ghost  yourself,  Henry?" 

"  See  'em,  sah  ?     Yes,  sah,  many  a  time." 

"When  did  you  see  one  last?" 

"  Las'  night,  sah." 

"  How  did  you  see  it?" 

"  I  jes'  look  out  in  the  night,  and  see  'em,  sah." 

"What  did  they  look  like?" 

"  Can't  tell  you,  sah.     Dey  was  ghostses." 

"  Did  they  look  like  dead  men  ?" 

"  No,  sah  ;  dey  was  ghostses." 


394         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

This  negro  was  a  simple-hearted  trusting  believer 
in  Jesus  as  his  personal  friend  and  Saviour.  He 
had  no  special  fear  of  ghosts,  nor  of  any  evil  powers 
in  the  world  of  spirits,  for  he  rested  on  God's  pro 
tection  at  all  times.  Yet  he  had  no  more  doubt 
as  to  the  reality  of  ghosts  than  he  had  as  to  the 
reality  of  dead  men  or  living  men,  or  of  God,  or  of 
the  devil.  The  fact  that  he  could  not  describe  or 
explain  their  appearance  was  no  more  perplexing 
to  him  than  the  inability  of  a  "lineman"  on  an 
electric  road  to  describe  or  explain  electricity  as  a 
force  in  the  universe.  And  he  was  so  far  a  repre 
sentative  negro,  in  slavery  or  out  of  it,  as  I  saw 
that  race  in  war  time. 

With  this  imaginative  and  superstitious  nature 
the  negro  showed  surprising  credulity  as  to  many  a 
simple  matter  beyond  his  sphere  of  actual  sight  or 
experience;  yet,  again,  he  showed  courage  and 
character.  In  our  last  year  of  army  service  in  Vir 
ginia,  my  tent-mate  and  I  had  two  "  contraband " 
servants  in  common, — the  one  a  stalwart  young 
negro  named  Creed,  very  black,  very  quiet,  say 
ing  little,  showing  little  emotion,  but  very  efficient 
and  faithful  as  a  body-servant ;  the  other,  an  older 
man,  named  Columbus,  who  had  been  trained  as 
a  "jockey"  on  the  racecourse,  who  took  care  of 
our  horses. 

Creed  proved  so  valuable  a  body-servant  and 
was  evidently  so  warmly  attached  to  us,  that  one 
day  I  suggested  to  him  that  if  we  lived  through 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     395 

the  war  he  might  go  North  with  us  and  be  our 
servant  there.  At  this  he  showed  signs  of  shrink 
ing  terror  which  I  could  not  account  for,  but  I 
saw  plainly  that  he  did  not  relish  the  thought  of 
being  at  the  North,  where  his  friends,  the  Union 
soldiers,  came  from.  Therefore  I  questioned  him 
on  the  subject. 

"  Why  don't  you  want  to  go  North,  Creed  ?  "  I 
asked. 

"'Fraid  o' Yanks,  sah." 

"Why  are  you  afraid  of  Yanks?" 

"  Yanks  up  Norf  kill  colored  men,  sah ;  hang  'em, 
burn  'em,  cut  'em  up,  sah." 

Such  stones  had  been  told  him  as  a  slave,  in  order 
to  make  him  fear  the  North  and  Northerners,  and 
he,  with  others,  supposed  that  there  must  be  some 
truth  as  their  basis.  He  implicitly  trusted  the 
Union  soldiers  as  God-sent  deliverers,  but  he  was 
afraid  of  the  negro-hating  Yankee  ghouls,  whom 
he  had  come  to  believe  abounded  in  the  North. 
He  did  not  for  a  moment  seem  to  associate  Union 
soldiers  with  "  Yanks." 

Old  Columbus,  a  gray-haired,  limping  negro, 
was  well  known  as  a  jockey  in  the  vicinity  of  Rich 
mond,  and  he  fully  understood  horses.  When  he 
escaped  through  the  lines  to  our  camp,  the  Rich 
mond  Examiner  reported  that  he  had  been  ill- 
treated  and  hanged  by  us.  As  we  read  to  him  this 
story,  from  a  paper  we  had  secured  at  the  picket 
lines,  a  sly  smile  came  over  his  face  as  if  he  knew 


396         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

more  about  the  Yankees  now  than  his  old  masters; 
and  he  said  that  "'fore  long"  he  would  have  his 
wife  and  son  on  our  side  of  the  lines,  "by  a  little 
designinV 

In  facing  actual  danger  Creed  showed  that  he 
was  no  coward.  He  never  shirked  or  wavered 
under  fire.  One  day,  in  the  Petersburg  trenches, 
our  regiment  occupied  the  extreme  picket  front. 
The  enemy's  lines  were  not  more  than  a  stone's 
throw  from  ours  at  that  point.  Sharp  firing  was 
going  on  at  noonday.  We  who  were  in  the 
trenches  kept  close  under  cover  just  then.  To 
show  a  head  above  the  works  was  sure  to  bring  a 
shot  from  the  enemy.  Creed  came  in  sight  from 
the  camp  at  the  rear,  bringing  our  dinner.  As  we 
saw  him  in  a  traverse  beyond,  we  called  out  to  him 
not  to  mount  the  bank  above  it,  as  he  would  surely 
be  fired  at,  and  we  would  wait  for  our  dinner  until 
its  bringing  was  safer. 

Undaunted,  Creed  showed  himself  on  the  crest 
of  the  hill,  a  conspicuous  mark  for  the  sharp 
shooters.  Bullets  flew  about  him,  and  a  spherical 
case  shot  bowled  past  him.  With  measured  strides 
he  kept  on,  swinging  his  dinner-pail,  as  if  he  had 
no  consciousness  of  impending  danger,  until  the 
shower  of  bullets  was  passed,  and  he  had  reached 
the  trench  where  we  sat  under  cover. 

"We  called  to  you  to  stop  back  out  of  the  fire, 
Creed,"  we  said. 

"  Might  as  well  come  on,  sah,  unless  a  bullet  stop 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     397 

me.  Fse  bringin'  yer  dinnah,  sah.  If  I  go  down, 
sah,  now's  good  time's  ever." 

He  had  the  soldier  sense  of  duty,  and  he  would 
not  shrink.  He  was  afraid  to  face  unreal  Yankee 
ghouls,  of  whom  he  had  been  told ;  he  was  not 
afraid  to  face  real  sharp-shooters,  whom  he  could 
see,  in  his  path  of  duty.  Was  that  man  a  craven 
coward  ?  or  was  he  a  brave  soldier  ? 

He  was,  indeed,  so  well  known  throughout  the 
regiment  for  his  courage  and  willing  helpfulness, 
that  my  tent-mate  said  facetiously  that  the  chap 
lain  was  "known  by  his  'creed'"  in  that  regi 
ment. 

Old  Columbus  I  noticed  one  evening  in  the 
group  gathered  at  our  regimental  prayer-meeting. 
After  the  meeting  I  spoke  to  him,  and  was  pleased 
at  the  hearty  way  in  which  he  expressed  his  trust 
in  Jesus  as  his  Saviour.  I  asked  him  if  he  had 
understood  what  I  said  in  the  meeting. 

"  Oh,  yes ! "  he  replied,  "  I  know  yer  chat.  I 
earn'  read  nor  write,  but  I  know  yer  chat." 

I  had  been  speaking  of  Joseph,  in  the  house  of 
Potiphar,  in  the  Egyptian  prison,  and  in  the  palace 
of  Pharaoh,  protected  and  cared  for  everywhere 
because  he  trusted  the  Lord,  and  the  Lord  was 
with  him.  It  was  evident  that  Columbus  had  un 
derstood  my  "chat." 

"It's  jes'  so  what  you  tell  'bout  Joseph.  Yer 
earn*  go  nowhar'  whar  Jesus  earn*  fin'  yer.  Yer 
go  down  to  the  bottom  ob  de  sea,  an  he  fin*  yer 


98         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 


dar.  He  fin'  Jonah  dar.  He  fin'  Dan'l  in  de  lions' 
den.  Whareber  yer  is,  dar's  jus'  de  place  for  Jesus 
to  fin*  yer." 

Thus  he  went  on  in  his  child-like  faith.  Al 
though  he  could  not  read  nor  write,  he  evidently 
got  more  comfort  out  of  the  Bible  truths  learned 
from  others'  "  chat "  than  many  have  gained  from 
their  study  of  books. 

When,  finally,  my  tent-mate,  Major  Camp,  was 
killed,  and  I  went  North  with  his  body,  Creed 
accompanied  me  in  spite  of  imaginary  dangers. 
The  North,  as  he  found  it,  was  so  different  from 
what  he  had  imagined,  that  it  was  like  a  revelation 
to  him.  My  wife  and  daughters  showed  an  interest 
in  him  as  a  man,  not  as  a  chattel,  because  of  what 
they  had  known  of  his  fidelity  to  their  loved  one. 
It  was  a  new  and  unexpected  experience  for  him. 
After  we  were  again  in  camp  together,  that  home 
in  the  North  was  another  place  to  him.  His  mind 
was  full  anew. 

Creed  came  in,  one  cold  autumn  day,  to  pile 
wood  on  our  cabin  fire. 

"Misser  Trum'le  [no  longer  'Misser  Chaplin; 
but  ' Misser  Trum'le'],"  he  said,  without  looking 
up,  "  when  you  gwine  write  home  'gen  ?  " 

"  I'm  writing  to-day,"  I  said. 

"  Jus'  gi'  my  'spec's  to  Missa  Trum'le,  and  to  Miss 
Sofa'  and  to  Miss  May.  Tell  'em  I  wish  I  could 
see  'em  'gen.  I  dream  'bout  'em  ebry  night." 

"You  dream  about  them  nights?"  I  said. 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     399 

"Yes,  sah,  ebry  night.  I  s'pose  dar  is'n  an  hour 
o'  cle  day  dat  I  is'n  study'n  'bout  'em.  I  wish  I 
could  see  'em  'gen." 

That  was  the  longest  speech  I  had  ever  heard 
from  Creed,  and  it  showed  more  of  his  inner  feel 
ings.  My  answer  was : 

"Well,  Creed,  I  hope  we  shall  go  back  there 
together  by  and  by." 

"  Yes,  sah,"  he  said,  as  he  passed  out  of  the 
cabin,  and  I  saw  that  he  realized  that  the  dwellers 
at  the  North  were  not  all  Yankee  ghouls.  This 
world  was  another  world  to  him.  Heaven  was  not 
all  beyond.  "The  bundle  of  contradictions"  was 
being  unraveled  in  his  case. 

That  many  of  the  slaves  were  treated  kindly 
by  their  "owners,"  and  that  they  were  warmly 
attached  to  those  who  controlled  them,  was  a  fact 
beyond  question.  Many  Southern  masters  were 
even  more  considerate  of  the  slaves  than  the  North 
erners,  in  the  army  and  out  of  it.  I  had  occasion 
to  know  of  some  outrageous  ill-treatment  of  ne 
groes,  in  their  property  and  their  persons,  by  riotous 
Union  soldiers  on  St.  Helena  Island  while  I  was 
there;  and,  on  the  other  hand,  I  knew  negroes  in 
most  of  the  states  of  the  Atlantic  coast  who  were 
considered  tenderly  by  their  "  owners,"  and  who  in 
return  sincerely  loved  those  who  gave  them  this 
treatment. 

Yet  the  slaves  as  a  class  were  in  sympathy 
with  the  Union  army  in  the  progress  of  the  war, 


400         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

and  were  opposed  to  the  efforts  of  the  Confed 
erate  army, — not  because  they  loved  Southerners 
less,  or  Northerners  more,  but  because  they  really 
believed  that  God  was  working  by  means  of  the 
Northern  army  for  the  carrying  out  of  his  plans  for 
the  freeing  of  an  oppressed  people  in  his  own  good 
time  and  way.  In  this  great  issue,  as  they  saw  it, 
the  negroes  were  on  God's  side,  even  though  they 
had  to  work  against  masters  to  whom  they  were 
attached,  and  to  befriend  Union  soldiers  who  were 
not  personally  kind  or  fair  toward  them.  It  was 
with  them  not  a  question  of  mere  feeling,  but  one 
of  positive  duty. 

There  was  in  this  a  certain  likeness  to  the  posi 
tion  of  the  white  leaders  on  the  two  sides  in  the 
great  war.  It  was  not  a  plain  question  of  loyalty 
and  disloyalty,  of  allegiance  and  treason,  that 
marked  the  line  of  separation  ;  it  was  a  question  as 
to  the  proper  object  of  loyalty  and  allegiance, — as  to 
where  true  loyalty  rested.  General  Grant  and  Gen 
eral  Lee  were  alike  in  their  spirit  and  purpose  of 
loyalty,  as  they  understood  the  issue ;  but  General 
Grant  felt  that  loyalty  was  due  to  the  Federal  gov 
ernment,  and  General  Lee  that  it  was  due  to  his 
native  state.  Each  loved  his  state  and  his  nation ; 
but  the  one  deemed  the  nation  paramount,  the 
other  the  state.  On  this  issue  the  war  was  fought 
out.  So  with  the  negro.  He  may  have  loved  his 
earthly  master,  but  he  loved  his  heavenly  Master 
more.  If  his  earthly  master  fought  against  God 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     40} 

in  this  conflict,  the  negro  gave  his  sympathy  and 
help  to  those  whom  he  deemed  on  God's  side,  even 
though  it  brought  him  against  those  to  whom  he 
was  personally  attached.  That  was  the  way  the 
negro  looked  at  it.  With  all  the  exceptions  to  it, 
this  was  the  rule. 

This  putting  of  religion  as  above  mere  personal 
interests  was  more  prominent  with  the  negro  than 
was  commonly  understood.  It  often  showed  itself 
in  other  things  besides  the  question  of  emancipa 
tion.  For  instance,  in  St.  Augustine  there  was  a 
little  negro  girl  about  eight  or  ten  years  old,  who 
had  been  brought  out  of  slavery,  and  was  in  the 
care  of  Northerners  where  she  was  affectionately 
treated  and  ministered  to.  But  she  had  been 
brought  up  a  Roman  Catholic,  and  was  now  being 
trained  as  a  Protestant.  One  day  when  the  "  freed- 
men  "  about  her  were  rejoicing  over  the  thought 
of  emancipation,  some  one  asked  this  child,  with 
out  a  doubt  as  to  what  the  answer  would  be : 

"  Rebecca,  would  you  like  to  go  back  into  slavery 
again?" 

"  If  I  could  have  my  own  religion  again,  I  would," 
was  the  unexpected  reply. 

Slavery  with  all  its  privations  was  to  that  little 
negro  but  a  small  matter  in  comparison  with  the 
being  deprived,  as  now,  of  the  privilege  of  wor 
shiping  God  as  she  thought  he  would  have  her 
worship.  This  may  seem  to  some  strange  and 
unreasonable,  but  it  must  be  recognized  as  in 


4O2         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

accordance  with  the  nature  of  many  a  Southern 
negro ;  nor  is  it  really  to  be  wondered  at,  with  the 
strength  of  the  religious  sentiment  in  human  nature 
as  it  is. 

It  is  said  by  many  Southerners  that  a  great  ma 
jority  of  the  slaves  were  faithful  to  their  masters, 
working  for  them  in  the  army,  or  while  they  were 
absent  from  home  in  the  war ;  and  it  is  known  that 
in  many  instances  they  helped  to  provide  for  their 
impoverished  masters  after  the  war  was  over  and 
they  were  free.  Yet  it  is  unmistakably  true  that 
the  slaves  were  as  a  class  always  ready  to  be 
friend  a  Union  soldier  in  prison  at  great  personal 
risk,  or  to  conceal  one  who  had  escaped,  and  to 
assist  him  to  regain  the  Union  lines.  These  things 
may  seem  to  be  inconsistent,  but  they  were  a  not 
unnatural  part  of  the  negro  "  bundle  of  contradic 
tions,"  and  they  can  be  understood  by  one  who 
studies  them  in  the  light  of  these  leading  facts  and 
principles. 

After  President  Lincoln's  Proclamation  of  Eman 
cipation  was  made  known  among  the  slaves,  they 
seemed  to  have  no  doubt  of  its  sure  realization, 
even  though  it  was  yet  but  a  declaration  on  paper, 
and  its  value  was  dependent  on  the  issue  of  the 
war.  On  the  ist  of  January,  1864,  I  was  in  St. 
Augustine.  The  "freedmen"  in  that  quaint  old 
town  had  a  joyous  celebration  of  this  first  anniver 
sary  of  the  Proclamation  of  Emancipation.  The 
idea  was  wholly  their  own,  and  they  had  charge 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     403 

of  all  the  details  of  the  plan,  including  the  prepara 
tion  of  the  entertainment,  although  the  military 
authorities  gave  them  help  as  they  requested  it. 

The  blacks,  old  and  young,  were  out  in  full 
force,  and  bedecked  in  all  the  finery  they  could 
command.  They  gathered  on  the  old  Spanish 
plaza  in  the  center  of  the  town,  and  had  exercises 
appropriate  to  the  occasion.  Then  they  invited 
their  white  guests,  military  and  civic,  to  a  collation 
spread  in  the  upper  room  of  the  old  Government 
Building,  just  west  of  the  plaza.  It  was  astonish 
ing  what  a  generous  display  of  fine  cakes  and  con 
fections  those  pastry-cooks  and  other  blacks  had 
provided  for  the  occasion,  and  what  delight  they 
had  in  serving  it  in  their  best  style,  out  of  their 
overflowing  joy  and  gratitude. 

One  old  "Uncle  Tom,"  white-haired,  smiling- 
faced,  and  tearful-eyed,  after  passing  from  group  to 
group  of  the  merry  throng,  with  a  fuller  apprecia 
tion  of  the  import  of  the  whole  affair  in  contrast 
with  his  past,  and  in  earnest  of  the  future  of  his 
long-enslaved  and  now  emancipated  people,  said  to 
me,  out  of  the  depths  of  his  brimming  heart: 

"  I  jus'  tank  de  Lord  I  eber  libed  to  'member  dis 
day.  BressdeLord!  Bress  de  Lord!" 

Like  Simeon  of  old,  welcoming  the  coming  of 
the  Holy  Babe,  he  was  sure  that  God's  promised 
Deliverer  had  come  "to  proclaim  liberty  to  the 
captives,  and  the  opening  of  the  prison  to  them 
that  are  bound;  to  proclaim  the  acceptable  year  of 


404         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

the  Lord."  From  that  day  to  this  his  trembling 
voice  has  sounded  in  my  ears,  as  if  he  were  saying, 
in  rejoicing  over  fulfilled  prophecy: 

"  Now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart,  O  Lord, 
According  to  thy  word,  in  peace ; 
For  mine  eyes  have  seen  thy  salvation." 

The  Emancipation  Proclamation  bore  date  of 
January  I,  1863;  it  was  "sealed  and  delivered"  at 
Appomattox  Court  House,  April  9,  1865.  What 
had  before  been  a  glad  promise,  then  became  an 
accomplished  fact.  Only  those  who  witnessed  the 
scenes  following  that  event  can  have  any  appre 
hension  of  the  mighty  outburst  of  rejoicing  that 
went  up  from  a  race  of  four  millions  of  slaves  en 
franchised  in  a  moment. 

My  regiment  was  in  the  victorious  column  of 
the  Twenty-fourth  Army  Corps,  that  turned  back 
from  the  scene  of  Lee's  surrender  to  find  rest  and 
quarters  in  evacuated  Richmond.  At  every  point 
along  the  route  the  negroes  swarmed  out  to  wel 
come  and  honor  the  army  which  had  won  them 
freedom.  They  shouted  their  thanks  to  them ; 
they  called  down  blessings  on  their  heads;  they 
threw  themselves  on  the  ground  before  them,  as 
the  column  passed  along,  hailing  them  as  their 
deliverers.  Yet,  under  and  back  of  all  this  out 
burst  of  rejoicing  and  of  welcome  and  thanks  to 
the  Union  soldiers,  there  was  manifest  the  feeling, 
on  the  part  of  the  enfranchised  race,  that  it  was 
God's  work,  and  that  to  him  was  the  praise  due. 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     405 

They  had  long  prayed,  as  they  waited,  for  this 
day,  and  at  last  it  had  come  in  response  to  their 
prayers.  Of  this  they  had  no  doubt. 

As  a  comrade  told  me,  at  one  point  an  old  negro 
mammy,  waving  her  bony  arms,  shouted  to  the 
passing  soldiers,  above  the  welcoming  cry  of  the 
younger  blacks  : 

"  Dun'  yer  t'ink  yer  did  it.  De  Lord  dun't  all. 
He  jus'  use  yer,  dat's  all.  Bress  de  Lord,  ebery  one 
o'yer!" 

And  that  it  ivas  God's  work,  who  can  doubt  ? 

In  Richmond  for  a  time  the  negro  seemed  su 
preme,  and  he  evidently  felt  that  he  was.  It  could 
hardly  be  supposed  that  a  race  just  out  of  bondage 
would  be  at  once  in  a  state  of  equilibrium  and  of 
entire  self-restraint,  saying  and  doing  just  and  only 
the  right  thing.  But  I  am  describing  what  I  saw 
and  heard,  without  attempting  a  defense  of  it  The 
blacks  on  all  sides  were  telling  of  their  joy  in  their 
new-found  liberty, — which  they  did  not  always  dis 
tinguish  from  unrestrained  license. 

"I  wer'  jus'  so  happy  w' en  I  know'd  it,  dat  I 
could'n'  do  nuffin  but  jus'  lay  down  'n  laf,  'n  laf, 
'n  laf,"  said  one.  "  I  could  jus'  roll  up  and  laf.  I 
declar  I  jus'  felt's  happy's  a  man's  got  r'ligion  'n  's 
soul." 

Another  chimed  in  with,  "Folks  say  man  earn' 
tote  a  bar'l  flour ;  but  I  c'd  tote  a  bar'l  flour  dat 
day,  or  a  bar'l  sugar." 

Said  another,  with  evident  appreciation  of  the 


406         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

privileges  of  a  freedman,  "I  seed  a  rebel  gwine 
down  de  street  dat  mornin'  wid  a  big  ham,  and  I 
jus'  tuk  dat  ham,  and  run'd  right  down  de  street 
He  holler  me  t'  stop  ;  but  I  jus'  keep  dat  ham." 

Many  of  the  negroes  wanted  to  tell  of  the  con 
trast  between  the  old  days  and  these. 

"We  hab  more  liberty  in  'n  hour,  when  you 
Yankees  come,  dan  'n  all  our  lives  'fore." 

Some  of  them  would  burst  out  with  recitals  of 
their  sufferings  as  slaves. 

"Dey  part  us  all.  Dey  send  off  our  families. 
Dey  send  us  whar'  dey  please.  Dey  han'cuff  us. 
Dey  put  us  in  jail.  Dey  gib  us  lashes.  Dey  starb 
us.  Dey  do  eb'ryt'ing  to  us." 

The  colored  Union  soldiers,  of  the  Twenty- 
fifth  Army  Corps,  who  were  with  us  in  Rich 
mond,  were  moving  about  among  their  released 
brethren,  telling  of  their  military  exploits,  and  they 
were,  of  course,  lions  among  the  freedmen.  De 
scribing  their  advange  over  the  Confederate  works 
across  the  New  Market  Road,  as  they  were  the 
first  to  enter  Richmond,  on  Monday  morning, 
April  3,  one  said  : 

"We  wait  for  de  daylight,  'cause  ob  tarpeeders, 
and  den  we  hab  rebel  so'jers  show  us  de  way. 
Whew  !  De  tarpeeders  jus'  as  thick  as  de  wool  on 
top  o'  my  head." 

Of  the  reception  of  the  colored  troops  by  their 
Richmond  brethren,  he  added  : 

"  De  people  jus'  t'ink  all  de  worl*  ob  we  Nordern 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     407 

so'jers.  Dey  jus'  hang  'bout  us,  and  comperlent 
us.  I  seed  some  o'  our  boys  'goin'  down  der 
streets  wid  der  Richmon'  ladies  on  der  arm.  Oh, 
my  !  Yer'd  ha'  think* d  'twas  a  extra  !" 

And  it  was. 

Of  course  the  freed  slaves  were  unable  to  com 
prehend  at  once  all  that  emancipation  brought  of 
new  obligations  to  service,  and  of  added  respon 
sibility  of  toil  for  their  own  support.  That  had  to 
come  gradually.  They  did,  indeed,  at  the  start, 
enjoy  making  money  by  trade  in  the  line  of  the 
wants  of  the  Union  soldiers,  or  of  the  needs  of  the 
community  and  their  own  personal  skill.  The 
camps  about  Richmond  were  soon  beset  with 
black  women  and  children  offering  sweets  and 
"snacks"  of  their  own  cookery.  Small  tables 
were  set  along  the  streets  and  roads  with  milk, 
and  ice-cream,  and  lemonade,  and  cakes,  for  sale, 
to  tempt  the  passing  soldiers.  And  rude  signs 
were  scrawled  over  cabins  and  small  shops,  as  if  in 
the  hope  of  bringing  in  extra  pennies  for  service 
for  old  customers  or  new.  The  announcement,  in 
one  case,  of  "Ice-Cream  and  Children's  Hair  Cut," 
showed  a  commendable  readiness  to  cut  or  cater 
for  whoever  would  pay  for  it.  They  were  ready  to 
provide  for  themselves,  if  they  did  not  have  to  work 
too  hard. 

A  friend  of  mine  coming  from  the  North  just 
then  with  enthusiastic  ideas  of  the  negro's  ability 
to  grapple  with  eveiy  duty  of  life,  told  me  of  his 


408         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

observation  among  freedmen  on  the  seacoast  He 
saw  a  group  of  able-bodied  black  men  who  had 
apparently  come  down  from  the  country  to  enjoy 
their  liberty.  As  he  asked  them  what  they  were 
doing  for  their  own  support,  they  said  they  were 
doing  nothing.  When  he  asked  why  not,  they 
said  there  was  no  one  to  employ  them.  Just  then 
a  man  came  up  from  a  lumber  schooner  lying  at 
the  dock  near  by,  and  wanted  a  number  of  men  to 
work  at  unloading  the  cargo.  Not  one  of  those 
freedmen  could  be  hired. 

"  I  thought  you  wanted  work,"  said  my  friend. 
"Now's  your  chance  to  take  hold." 

"  O  massa !  we  wants  work,  but  we  don'  want  no 
lab'rin  work." 

Their  idea  of  a  desirable  job  was,  as  yet,  that 
which  keeps  many  a  white  man  from  doing  what 
he  ought  to  do  for  his  own  support.  But  sooner 
or  later  the  freedmen  learned  that  emancipation 
brought  the  privilege  and  duty  of  doing  "lab'rin' 
work"  in  order  to  live. 

During  the  early  days  of  the  confused  "  recon 
struction "  period,  side-lights  on  slavery  and  eman 
cipation  as  related  to  the  whites  were  to  be  seen  in 
Richmond  that  are  well  worth  remembering.  My 
old  commander,  General  Alfred  H.  Terry,  was  in 
charge  of  the  Department  of  Virginia,  and  his 
chief  of  staff  in  that  position  was  my  long-time 
friend,  General  Joseph  R.  Hawley.  As  Richmond 
was  still  a  center  of  interest  to  Confederate  leaders 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation     409 

generally,  and  was  the  prominent  point  of  the  quon 
dam  Confederacy  nearest  to  the  national  capital,  it 
was  the  scene  of  many  an  interesting  interview  and 
cliscussion  between  those  who  had  faced  each  other 
as  enemies,  but  now  met  as  friends.  I  was  fre 
quently  in  the  office  at  department  headquarters. 

The  United  States  government  had  promised 
transportation  from  Richmond  to  all  officers  and 
men  of  the  Confederate  army  desiring  to  return  to 
their  homes.  One  day,  a  gentleman  in  civilian 
dress  came  in  and  applied  for  such  transportation. 
When  asked  his  name,  he  answered  modestly, 

"J.  E.  Johnston." 

General  Hawley,  hearing  the  name,  started  up, 
and  asked  : 

"Is  this  General  Joseph  E.  Johnston?" 

"That's  what  they  called  me,"  was  the  reply. 

At  this  General  Hawley  said  that  he  was  sure 
that  General  Terry  would  be  glad  to  meet  General 
Johnston  personally ;  and  the  three  officers  were 
soon  together,  talking  over  war  memories  earnestly 
and  in  excellent  spirit. 

On  one  occasion,  General  Henry  A.  Wise,  gov 
ernor  of  Virginia  at  the  time  of  the  John  Brown 
raid,  came  into  the  office  to  apply  for  the  interven 
tion  of  General  Terry  to  repossess  him  of  a  build 
ing  on  his  lands  in  the  eastern  part  of  the  state. 
In  the  course  of  the  conversation,  it  came  out  that 
that  building  was  now  occupied  as  a  school  for  little 
negroes,  taught  by  a  daughter  of  old  John  Brown, 


4io         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

whom  he  had  had  hanged.  The  disclosure  of  this 
fact  caused  a  friend  of  General  Wise,  who  was 
present,  to  comment  on  the  strange  turn  of  affairs 
by  which,  within  six  years  from  the  execution  of 
John  Brown,  the  governor  who  hanged  him  was  im 
ploring  the  help  of  the  United  States  government 
to  drive  one  of  John  Brown's  daughters  out  of  the 
governor's  house,  where  she  was  teaching  little 
negroes.  To  the  surprise  of  all,  General  Wise 
responded  earnestly: 

"John  Brown  !  John  Brown  was  a  great  man, 
sir.  John  Brown  was  a  great  man  !" 

Henry  A.  Wise  was  man  enough  to  realize  that 
God's  ways  of  working  seem  different  when  looked 
back  upon  in  accomplished  history,  and  when  seen 
distortedly  coming  toward  us  through  the  mists  of 
personal  prejudices  and  fears. 

General  Hawley  told  me  of  having  a  long  per 
sonal  talk  with  Governor  Wise,  at  one  time,  about 
that  same  John  Brown.  "The  Governor  spoke  of 
Brown  with  great  respect  He  saw  him  at  the 
time  of  Brown's  capture,  and  was  much  impressed. 
Among  other  remarks  of  the  Governor  about 
Brown  were  these  :  '  He  was  a  very  remarkable 
man.  There  he  lay  on  the  floor  of  the  engine- 
house,  leaning  upon  one  elbow,  smutty,  dusty, 
and  bloody,  reasoning  with  me  with  great  earn 
estness  upon  the  exceeding  sinfulness  of  slavery, 
trying  to  make  an  abolitionist  of  me  !  He  forgot 
that  he  was  certainly  about  to  be  hanged,  and  that 


Seeing  Slavery  and  Emancipation       4 1 1 

I  was  the  chief  executive,  in  whose  hands  was  his 
life.'  " 

Harriet  Beecher  Stowe's  graphic  delineation  of 
slavery  as  it  was,  in  the  story  of  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  was  at  the  time  of  its  writing  much  dis 
cussed  and  bitterly  denounced  both  North  and 
South.  But  when  slavery  had  become  the  occa 
sion  of  a  war  which  united  all  the  North,  that 
story  was  dramatized  and  became  popular  in  the 
theaters  of  New  York.  The  "stage,"  which  never 
attempts  to  lead  public  sentiment  in  an  unpopular 
direction,  can  always  be  depended  on  to  follow  at 
a  paying  distance  behind  the  average  public  senti 
ment  in  a  question  of  morals  ;  and  so  that  story 
became  familiar  to  many  who  now  wanted  to  be 
lieve  the  worst  that  it  told  of  a  representative 
institution  of  the  South. 

After  the  war  many  Southerners  who  came 
North  went  to  see  that  play  of  "  Uncle  Tom's 
Cabin,"  although  they  had  never  read  the  book. 
Two  of  my  acquaintances,  the  one  from  Missouri 
and  the  other  from  South  Carolina,  went  together, 
in  this  way,  to  see  it  performed  in  a  popular  New 
York  theater.  As  they  left  the  theater  at  the  close 
of  the  evening,  as  my  Missouri  friend  informed  me, 
the  South-Carolinian  walked  along  for  some  time 
without  saying  a  word,  and  then  laconically  ex 
pressed  himself: 

"Will,  that's  what  licked  us." 

And  it  was  not  strange  that  he  thought  so. 


412         War  Memories  of  a  Chaplain 

The  North,  it  must  be  remembered,  had  a  full 
share  of  responsibility  for  slavery  with  its  evils  at 
the  South.  The  South  has  a  full  share  of  the 
blessings  of  emancipation  brought  about  by  the 
outpouring  of  the  best  blood  of  both  North  and 
South.  President  Rutherford  B.  Hayes,  when  ad 
dressing  his  military  companions,  on  one  occasion, 
with  reference  to  the  conflicts  of  our  Civil  War,  said 
that  never  before  in  the  history  of  the  world  did 
the  victors  in  a  great  conflict  gain  as  much  as  was 
won  in  this  instance — by  the  vanquished ;  and  this 
in  addition  to  what  was  gained  by  the  victors.  It 
is,  therefore,  well  for  us  to  consider  now  these  plain 
truths  about  slavery  as  it  was,  and  about  emancipa 
tion  as  it  came  to  pass : 

"  Lest  we  forget — lest  we  forget" 


INDEX 


INDEX 


ABSOLUTION    under    fire,    given    by 

Chaplain  Corby,  6. 
Academy  of  Music,  General  Grant's 

welcome  in,  326. 
Agnew,   Rev.    Dr.   B.    H.,  as  army 

chaplain,  13. 
Albany,  flag  of  Thirtieth  New  York 

Regiment  in  military  museum  at, 

158. 
Ambrose,  Rev.  Thomas  L.,  as  army 

chaplain,  10. 
American  flag:   to  be  honored,  172; 

lowered    at    Fort    Sumter,    173 ; 

raised   again  over    Fort  Sumter, 

I73- 
American   Revolution,   veterans    of, 

IO2. 

Anderson,   General   Robert,  at   Fort 

Sumter,  173,  246. 
Anderson's    Zouaves,    reference    to, 

I7S- 

Andrews,    Governor,    accepting    old 

flags    in     front    of    Connecticut 

Statehouse,  170. 
Appomattox  Court  House,  surrender 

of  General  Lee  at,  91,  200. 
Army  chapels  and  religious  services, 

15-38. 
Arthur,    Ex-President,     at    General 

Grant's  funeral,  332. 
Articles  of  War,  reference  to,  i. 
Assassination  of  President  Lincoln, 

924. 
Augur,    General,    instructions    from 

President  Grant  to,  321  f. 
"  Auld   Lang  Syne "   in    St.    Paul's 

Cathedral,  156. 

BABBIDGE,  Rev.  Dr.  Charles,  as  army 
chaplain,  13. 

Bacon, Rev.  Dr.  Leonard:  his  memory 
of  Revolutionary  soldiers,  103. 

Bartlett,  Captain,  of  Plymouth,  testi 
mony  of,  131. 

Bartlett,  Victor,  as  prisoner  of  war, 
•3»« 

"  Battle  Flag  Day  "  in  Connecticut, 
168,  171. 

Beauregard,  General  :  sending  staff 
officer  to  Columbia  Jail,  59  ;  ap 
peal  from,  about  Florida,  84 ; 


summons  from,  through  aide  of, 
261  ;  order  from,  for  service  rn 
"  Yankee  Hospital,"  263  ;  Chap 
lain  Trumbull  taken  in  charge  by 
file  of  soldiers,  under  aide  of, 
267 ;  in  solitary  confinement  by 
order  of,  268  ;  taken  to  headquar 
ters  of,  270 ;  cause  of  order  from, 
271 ;  directed  to  send  Chaplain 
Irumbull  to  Richmond,  301. 

Beecher,  Rev.  Henry  Ward  :  his  ad 
dress  at  Fort  Sumter,  173. 

Benham,  General,  co-operation  of, 
with  navy,  336. 

Benton,  Rev.  Orlando  N.,  as  army 
chaplain,  10. 

Berlin,  Imperial  Arsenal  at,  standards 
in,  *54- 

Bermuda  Hundreds,  army  service  at, 
33>  54,  *5*>  2*9  f-,  3°7- 

Blackford,  Lord,  letter  from  Dean 
Church  to,  155. 

Bragg,  General,  reinforcements  at 
Chicamauga  for,  281. 

Branchville,  night  scene  at,  272  f. 

Breese,  Fleet  Captain,  report  from, 
354. 

British  army,  flags  of,  155. 

Brooklyn,  reunion  of  soldiers  and 
sailors  at,  174. 

"  Brown,  John,  of  Osawatomie,"  370, 
410. 

Bryan,  Major,  Chaplain  Trumbull 
received  at  Kinston  by,  246. 

Buckner,  General  Simon  B.,  at  Gene 
ral  Grant's  funeral,  331. 

Bull  Run,  Rev.  Hiram  Eddy  taken 
prisoner  in  battle  of,  255, 

Burnside,  General :  executes  Con- 
federate  spies,  59  ;  Army  of  the 
Potomac  in  its  advance  on 
Fredericksburg,  Va.,  under,  70; 
attack  of,  on  Fredericksburg,  241  ; 
soldiers'  enthusiasm  for,  306 ; 
coast  division  of,  to  co-operate 
with  Commodore  Goldsborough, 
336. 

Burnside  expedition,  reference  to,  81. 

Bushnell,  Rev.  Dr.  Horace  :  his  in 
terest  in  influence  of  army  life, 

100. 

415 


416 


Index 


Butler,  Chaplain  Frank,  killed  in 
battle,  10. 

Butler,  General  B.  F.  :  troops  or 
dered  to  New  York  City  under, 
90;  his  command  "bottled  up" 
at  Bermuda  Hundreds,  307  ;  or 
dered  to  Lowell  by  General 
Grant,  313;  in  co-operation  with 
navy,  336. 

CALDWELL,  General,  at  Gettys 
burg,  5. 

Cameron,  Secretary  of  War,  with 
General  Grant  in  Philadelphia, 
321  f. 

Camp,  Adjutant  Henry  W.  :  with 
chaplain  on  field  at  Morris  Is 
land,  256  ;  sent  to  Columbia,  267  ; 
in  Columbia,  272,  275,  278,  288 ; 
playing  chess  in  prison,  282 ; 
parting  with,  in  prison,  289. 

Catholic  chapel  of  Fort  Marion,  31. 

Catholic  officers,  reference  to,  23. 

Catholic  soldier,  objection  of,  22. 

Catskill,  monitor,  25,  337,  361,  364, 

Chalfant,  Rev.  Dr.  George  Wilson, 
as  army  chaplain,  13. 

Chaplain,  army  :  place  and  work  of, 
1-14  ;  rank  of,  2  ;  moral  influence 
of,  5 ;  soldiers'  estimate  of,  8 ; 
sermons  of,  65-104 ;  pastoral  work 
of,  105-132. 

"  Chaplains'  Aid  Commission  "  in 
Connecticut.  16. 

Chaplains,  Confederate,  reference  to, 
14. 

Chase,  Chief  Justice,  reference  to,  311. 

Charleston :  operations  before,  24, 
174;  prison  hospital  at,  25  ;  siege 
of,  58,  73,  77,  80,  237  f.;  in  jail  at, 
77,  259  ;  prisoner  in,  124. 

Charleston  Courier :  reference  to, 
211 ;  cited,  212,  271. 

Christian  Commission  :  hospital  tent 
fly  given  by,  35 ;  peaches  given 
by,  116 ;  burial  parties  from, 
228  f. ;  supplies  for  prisoners 
from,  296. 

Church,  Dean,  quotation  from,  155. 

City  Point,  General  Grant's  head 
quarters  at,  34. 

Cleveland,  President,  at  Grant's 
funeral,  332. 

Cold  Harbor,  burial  parties  sent  to, 
by  Christian  Commission,  228. 

Collier,  Rev.  Dr.  G.  W.,  as  army 
chaplain,  13. 

Color-sergeant :  in  South  Carolina, 
157 ;  of  Pennsylvania  regiment 
killed,  157. 

Columbia,  in  jail  at,  25,  58  f.,  77. 


"  Columbus,"  a  freedman  army  ser 
vant,  394-398. 

Communion  service  in  New  Berne 
Presbyterian  Church,  17. 

Confederate :  dead,  reference  to,  n  ; 
chaplains  in  Northern  war 
prisons,  14  ;  attempt  to  blow  up 
New  Ironsides,  58  f. ;  spies  exe 
cuted,  59  ;  flag  on  steamboat,  162  ; 
capital,  home  guard  of,  162. 

Confederate  Testament,  given  to  sol 
dier  in  Columbia,  131. 

Connecticut :  flag  first  on  Fort  Gregg, 
165  f. ;  flag  made  of  preserved 
fragments,  167  ;  regimental  colors 
in  Hartford  Arsenal,  168. 

Corby,  Chaplain  Very  Rev.  William, 
as  regimental  chaplain,  giving 
absolution  at  Gettysburg,  5  f.; 
performing  absolution,  12. 

Coronation  of  a   Tsar,   presentation 

of  the  national  flag  at,  155. 
Coronation "   sung   by   soldiers  at 


Deep  Bottom,  88. 
"  Creed,"  a  freedman 


army  servant, 


394-399- 
ells  f 


Cromwell's  soldiers,  reference  to,  102. 
Cummings  Point,  reference  to,  257  f. 

DADE,  Major,  monument  of,  in  St. 

Augustine,  217. 

Darbytown  road,  scene  on,  226. 
Davis,    Jefferson,   proclamation    of, 

262. 
Davis,    John,    gunner    on    "  Valley 

City,"  343. 
Death    of:    General    Grant,    328  f.  ; 

Commander  G.  W.  Rodgers,  364. 
Deep  Bottom  :  Sunday  service  at,87  f.; 

army  service  at,  46,  151,  161,  179. 
Deep  Run,  army  service  at,  47. 
De  Fontaine,  Dr.,  at  Kinston,  246  f. 
De  Forest,  President  H.  S.,  as  army 

chaplain,  12. 
Denison,  Rev.  Dr.  Frederic,  as  army 

chaplain,  13. 
Department  of  the  South,  references 

to,  23,  28. 

Deserters  and  desertions,  177-202. 
"  Desirableness  of  Active  Service,"  86 
Devotion  to  flag,  153-176. 
Disclosures  of  soldier  heart,  39-64. 
Donelson,  Fort,  Admiral  Foote  dis 
abled  at,  206. 
Dow,  General  Neal,  ranking  officer 

in  Libby,  293. 

Doyle,  Mayor,  of  Providence,   pre 
senting     greetings     to     General 

Grant,  315. 

Draft  riots  in  New  York  City,  55. 
Drewry's  Bluff,  Confederate  soldier 

dying  near,  141. 


Index 


417 


Dupont,  Admiral,  in  co-operation 
with  army  commanders,  335  f. 

Dutton,  Corporal,  flag  of  Connecticut 
carried  by,  165. 

EATON,  General  John,  as  army  chap 
lain,  ii  f. 

Eddy  :  Rev.  Dr.  Hiram,  as  army 
chaplain,  13  ;  taken  prisoner,  255. 

Edinburgh  Review,  quotation  from, 
340. 

Edwards,  Rev.  Dr.  Arthur,  as  army 
chaplain,  12. 

Eighty-eighth  New  York  Regiment, 
reference  to,  5. 

Election  of  1864,  reference  to,  89  f. 

Eleventh  Maine,  references  to,  38,  50, 

"5- 

Ellsworth,  Colonel,  death  of,  204. 

Emancipation  Proclamation  :  refer 
ence  to,  no;  date  of,  404. 

Emancipation,  slavery  and,  367-412. 

Evans,  General,  in  command  at 
Kinston,  242-244. 

FAIR  GROUNDS  at  New  Berne,  refer 
ence  to,  133. 

Fair  Oaks,  old  battle  ground  at,  227. 

Farragut,  Admiral,  in  co-operation 
with  army  officers,  335. 

Fasting,  national  day  of,  93. 

"  Father  Leo,"  as  army  chaplain,  13. 

Federal  chaplains  in  Libby  Prison,  14. 

Federal  exchange  boat,  162. 

Federal  officers  selected  from  Libby 
Prison  for  execution,  59  f. 

Fifty-first  New  York  Regiment,  refer 
ence  to,  10. 

Fifty-fourth  Massachusetts  Regi 
ment,  references  to,  212,  338. 

Fifty-sixth  NewYork  Regiment,  refer 
ence  to,  24. 

First  Connecticut  Regiment,  reference 
to,  255. 

"  First  Louisiana  Corps  d'Afrique," 
reference  to,  263. 

Fish,  Hamilton,  Secretary  of  State, 
with  General  Grant,  321  f. 

Flag:  hauled  down  at  Fort  Sumter, 
65;  devotion  to,  153-177. 

Flag  of  truce  :  mail  by,  144  ;  letter  by, 
146  ;  under  a,  233-252. 

Flag-of-truce  boat,  Stars  and  Stripes 
on,  162. 

Flags,  tattered,  in  St.  Paul's,  155  f. 

Florida,  Tenth  Regiment  ordered  to, 
80. 

Foote,  Admiral :  at  home  disabled  by 
wound,  206  ;  co-operating  with 
General  Grant,  335. 

Fort  Delaware,  prisoner  of  war  in, 


Fort  Donelson,  Admiral  Foote  dis 
abled  at,  206. 

Fort  Gregg  :  brigade  assigned  to  as 
sault,  164  ;  one  of  detached  works 
before  Petersburg,  200 

Fort  Harrison  General  Gram  at,  306. 

Fort  Marion,  Catholic  chapel  in,  31 

Fort  Sumter  :  Commander  Rodgers 
killed  by  a  shot  from,  25 ;  flag 
lowering  and  raising  at,  65,  173  f., 
246 ;  stopping  at  sally-port  of, 
*58. 

Fort  Wagner :  Union  soldiers  brought 
up  from  before,  124  f.  ;  after  attack 
on,  210  f. ;  battle  of,  257-264. 

Fortress  Monroe,  steamer  to,  150. 

Fortress  San  Marco,  services  in,  31. 

Foster,  General  John  G.  :  his  hearty 
approval  of  chaplain's  work,  23  ; 
his  command,  70 ;  on  steamer 
Pilot  Boy,  135  f.  ;  his  move  into 
interior  of  North  Carolina,  241 ; 
enthusiasm  of  his  soldiers,  306. 

Foster  General  Hospital,  death  of 
Christian  officer  in,  23. 

Fox,  Professor  Norman,  as  army 
chaplain,  12 

Fox,  Colonel  William  F.,  cited,  9,  11. 

Freedmen  (see  "  Slavery  and  Emanci 
pation,"  367-412). 

French  national  colors,  preserved  in 
Berlin,  154. 

Frisbie,  Rev.  Dr.  B.  L.,  as  army 
chaplain,  13. 

Fuller,  Chaplain  Arthur  B.,  dying  at 
Fredericksburg,  10. 

Funeral  service  at  New  Berne,  39  f. 

GAINES'S  MILL,  battle-field  of,  228. 

Gay,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Albert  Zabriskie, 
as  army  chaplain,  12. 

German  socialist,  cited,  171. 

Gettysburg,  battle  of,  absolution 
given  to  regiment  at,  5. 

Gibbon,  Major-General  John  :  ready 
to  give  aid  to  the  chaplain,  23  ; 
cited,  201. 

Gibson,  Rev.  Dr.  J.  T.,  as  army  chap 
lain,  12. 

Gillmore,  Major-General :  ready  to 
give  aid  to  chaplain,  23;  his  as 
sault  on  Fort  Wagner,  256 ;  flag 
of  truce  from,  271  ;  enthusiasm  of 
soldiers  for,  306  ;  in  co-operation 
with  navy,  336. 

Gilmore,  James  R.,  sent  to  Rich 
mond  by  flag  of  truce,  308. 

Glimpses  of  General  Grant,  305-334. 

Goldsboro',  railroad  bridge  destroyed 
at,  209,  241. 

Goldsborough,  Commodore,  General 
Burnside  co-operating  with,  336 


Index 


Goodyear,  General,  seeking  to  stop 
desertions,  107. 

Gordon,  General  George,  sent  by 
Grant  to  make  investigation,  313. 

Gordon,  General  John  B.,  at  General 
Grant's  funeral,  331. 

Graham's  phonography  in  jail,  282. 

Granger,  Hon.  Francis,  leader  of 
"Silver  Gray  Whigs,"  369. 

Grant,  General :  headquarters  at  City 
Point,  34  ;  preparations  for  his 
fresh  campaign  in  Virginia,  81  ; 
forward  movement  of  armies 
under,  87,  200 ;  operations  in  Vir 
ginia  under,  149  ;  assault  under 
eye  of,  202  ;  policy  of,  in  intermit 
ting  exchange  of  prisoners,  255; 
glimpses  of,  305-334  ;  first  sight 
of,  307 ;  first  call  on,  310 ;  Cen 
tennial  message  to  Sunday-school 
children  from,  319  ;  message  to 
General  Sherman  from,  321  ;  trip 
around  the  world  of,  325  ;  wel 
come  home  of,  325  ;  death  of,  328. 

Gregg,  Fort,  assault  of,  164,  200. 

"Grover  House,"  oeyond  Deep  Bot 
tom,  308,  310. 

HAGOOD,  General,  on  Morris  Island, 

257. 
Hall,  Rev.  Dr.  Edward  H.,  as  army 

chaplain,  13. 
Hancock,  General  :    at    Gettysburg, 

5,  8 ;  at  General  Grant's  funeral, 

332- 

Hanna,  Lieutenant,  under  flag  of 
truce,  242. 

Hardy,  Commodore,  British  fleet 
under,  234,  236. 

Harris,  Captain,  held  as  hostage  for 
Confederate  prisoner,  349. 

Hartford  Arsenal,  regimental  colors 
of  troops  of  Connecticut  in,  168. 

Hartz,  Lieutenant,  seeking  to  save 
regimental  colors,  166. 

Hatch,  Captain,  Confederate  agent 
of  exchange,  301. 

Hatteras,Cape  :  Sunday  service  near, 
16  ;  memories  of,  81. 

Hawley,  General  Joseph  R.:  in  com 
mand  of  ceremonies  on  "  Battle- 
Flag  Day,"  168  f. ;  chairman  of 
Republican  convention,  300  f.; 
president  of  Centennial  Exhibi 
tion,  320 ;  chief  of  staff,  408  f. 

Hayes,  Ex-President :  at  General 
Grant's  funeral,  332  ;  estimate  of 
results  of  the  Civil  War,  412. 

Heart     of    soldier,     disclosures     of, 

Hepworth,  the  Rev.  Dr.  George  H.,  as 
army  chaplain,  13. 


mental 


Hesse,  Corporal  John  C.,  regi 

colors  concealed  by,  166. 
Hines,  Lieutenant,  of  North  Carolina, 

commanding  flag-of-truce  escort, 

245,  248. 
Hollywood  Cemetery,  Memorial  Day 

in,  229. 

Home  mail,  influence  of,  133-152. 
Hopkins,    the    Rev.   Dr.    Henry,  as 

army  chaplain,  13. 
Howard,   General   O.    O.,   telling  of 

West  Point  Chapel,  319  f. 
Hoyt,  Governor  Henry  M.,  welcom 
ing  General  Grant,  325. 
Hughes,  Archbishop,  army  chaplain 

deputed  by,  27. 
Hunter,  General,  regiment  under,  in 

operations     against     Charleston, 

336. 

IMPERIAL  ARSENAL  at  Berlin,  stan 
dards  in,  154. 

Influence  of  home  mail,  133-152. 

Ireland,  Archbishop  John,  as  army 
chaplain,  11. 

Irish  Brigade  at  Gettysburg,  5. 

JAMES,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Horace,  as 
army  chaplain,  13. 

Janeway,  Chaplain,  taking  part  in 
dedication  of  army  chapel,  36. 

Jaquess,  Colonel,  sent  to  Richmond 
by  flag  of  truce,  308. 

Johnston,  General  Joseph  E.  :  at 
General  Grant's  funeral,  331  ;  at 
Richmond  after  war,  409. 

Jordan.  General  Thomas  :  as  chief-of- 
staff  to  General  Beauregard,  270 ; 
protests  against  release  of  Chap 
lain  Trumbull,  302. 

KEOUOH,  William,  regimental  post 
master,  133. 

Kimball,  Rev.  J.  C.,  as  army  chap 
lain,  13. 

Kinston,  battle  of,  18,  23,  45,  209, 
212,  241. 

"  Kirke,  Edmund,"  sent  to  Richmond 
under  flag  of  truce,  308. 

Knaggs,  Adjutant,  sorting  mail  in 
Libby,  144. 

LEE,  General  Robert  E.  :  references 
to,  91,  200,  201,  241  ;  reinforce 
ments  at  Chickamauga  on  their 
way  from,  281. 

"  Leo,  Father,"  as  army  chaplain,  13. 

Letters  from  home,  influence  of,  133- 
152. 

Libby  Prison  :  Federal  chaplains  in, 

14 ;    Federal  officers  selected  for 

execution  from,  59  f.;  inmate  of, 

f.,  255 ;  home  mail  in,  144  f.; 


Index 


419 


American  flag,  "  union  down," 
on  wall,  162  ;  national  colors 
concealed  by  prisoners  in,  167  ; 
life  in,  290-300. 

Lincoln,  President :  picture  of,  in 
rustic  chapel,  35  f.;  Thanksgiving 
Day  proclamation  of,  68;  second 
election  of,  89 ;  assassination  of, 
92  f.;  proclamation  of  emancipa 
tion  of,  no,  251,  380;  grief  over 
Colonel  Ellsworth's  death,  204  f. 

Linkings  with  the  navy,  335-366. 

Little  Washington,  North  Carolina, 
242. 

Longstreet,  General  James,  quotation 
from,  319. 

Luck,  Dr.  J.  T.,  naval  surgeon,  289. 

Lundman,  Swedish  deserter,  62. 

Lynch,  Bishop :  his  interest  in  sol 
diers,  25,  27,  265. 

Lynch,  Colonel,  advancing  with 
color  sergeant,  161. 

MAIL  from  home,  influence  of,  on  sol 
diers,  133-152. 

Man  overboard  in  Port  Royal  har 
bor,  42-45. 

Manning,  Rev.  Dr.  J.  M.,  as  army 
chaplain,  13. 

McCabe,  Bishop  C.  C.,  as  army  chap 
lain,  12. 

McClellan,  General,  references  to,  61, 
89,  157,  227. 

McCfennahan,  Captain,  at  Kinston, 
247. 

McCook,  Rev.  Dr.  Henry  C.,  as  army 
chaplain,  13. 

McGruder,  General,  reference  to,  247. 

McMahon,  Bishop  Lawrence,  as  army 
chaplain,  12. 

McNeill,  Major,  at  Kinston,  246. 

Meagher,  General  Thomas,  at  battle 
of  Gettysburg,  6. 

Mechanicsville,  dead  soldiers  at  field 
of,  228. 

Memorial  Day  in  Hollywood  Ceme 
tery,  229. 

Memorial  Day  services  in  Richmond, 
220. 

Meredith,  General,  Commissioner  of 
Exchange,  302. 

Military  Academy  at  West  Point, 
reference  to,  171  f. 

"  Missouri  Compromise,"  repeal   of, 

Mitchell,    General,     in     co-operation 

with  navy,  336. 
Monitor  Catskill,  in  South   Carolina 

waters,  25. 
Moore,    Colonel,  messenger   between 

South  Carolina  and  Fort  Sumter, 

246. 


Moors,  Rev.  Dr.  John  H.,  as  army 
chaplain,  13. 

Morris  Island  :  battle  on,  25  ;  cap 
tured  on,  77  ;  wounded  prisoners 
from,  125-263  f.  ;  dead  soldier  on, 
141;  disposition  of  dead  on,  215  f.; 
naval  surgeon  captured  on,  260; 
Union  officers  from,  272. 

"  Muggins,"  killed  before  Petersburg, 
223. 

Mulford,  Major,  Union  agent  of  ex 
change,  301. 

Mulholland,  General  St.  Clair,  at 
Gettysburg,  6. 

NAPOLEON:  standards  of,  154;  old 
soldier's  estimate  of,  304  f. 

Navy,  linkings  with,  335-366. 

Negroes  (see  "Slavery  and  Eman 
cipation"),  367-412. 

Nelson,  Lord  :  tomb  of,  at  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  155;  death  of,  236. 

Neuse  River,  mail  steamer  coming  up, 
133. 

New  Berne  Presbyterian  Church, 
communion  service  in,  17. 

New  Berne  :  hospitals  at,  23, 30, 39  f. ; 
battle  of,  48. 

New  England  Thanksgiving  Day, 
68  f. 

New  Hampshire  boy  dying  in  hos 
pital,  126. 

New  Ironsides  before  Charleston,  58  f. 

New  York  City,  draft  riots  in,  55,  90. 

New  York  Engineers,  rustic  chapel 
of,  34- 

New  York  Fire  Zouaves,  204. 

New  York  papers,  news  by,  87. 

Nicolls,  Rev.  Dr.  Samuel  J.,  as  army 
chaplain,  12. 

North  Edisto  Inlet,  near  Charleston, 
19,  24. 

Northwestern  Christian  Advocate, 
reference  to,  12. 

Northern  prisons,  Confederate  chap 
lains  in,  14. 

Northrop,  Corporal,  of  the  color- 
guard,  164  f. 

OGLETHORPH,  General,  bombarding 
Spanish  fort,  31. 

"  Old  Maggie,"  a  typical  Southern 
mammy,  276. 

Ord,  General,  application  to  Presi 
dent  Lincoln  by,  198,  202. 

Ord,  Mrs.,  presenting  medals  to  color- 
bearers,  202. 

Ould,  Judge,  Confederate  Commis 
sioner  of  Exchange,  301. 

PARMALHE,  Corporal,  of  the  color- 
guard,  165  f. 


420 


Index 


Petersburg  :  trenches  at,  10  ;  siege  of, 
34,  52,  99  222,  224,  237  f. ;  final 
attack  on,  164. 

Phillips,  Corporal,  bearing  colors,  165. 

Picket  duty  on  Seabrook  Island,  77. 

Pilot  Boy,  regiment  on  steamer,  135  f. 

Pitman's  phonography  discussed  in 
jail,  282. 

Place  and  work  of  regimental  chap 
lain,  1-14. 

Port  Hudson,  Maine  soldier  killed  at, 

So- 
Port   Royal  harbor,  man  overboard 

in,  42-45. 

Port  Royal,  South  Carolina,  19. 
Porter,  Admiral,  in  co-operation  with 

army  officers,  336,  342. 
Porter,    Lieutenant     Benjamin      H., 

sketch  of,  344-350. 

Porter,  Colonel  Horace,  tells  of  Gene 
ral  Grant's  popularity,  306. 
Presbyterian  church  in  St.  Augustine, 

29,  80. 
Preston,    Colonel,    in     command    at 

Columbia,  273. 
Preston,  Lieutenant  S.  W.,  sketch  of, 

350-3S5- 

Prison  hospital  at  Charleston,  25,  264. 
Prisoner  of  war,  experiences  as,  253- 

3°4- 

Pryor,  General  Roger  A.,  at  Peters 
burg,  240  f. 

Putnam,  Colonel,  killed  at  Fort  Wag 
ner,  212. 

QUEEN    Street,     Charleston,    prison 

hospital  on,  264. 
Quint,    Rev.    Dr.    A.    H.,   as  army 

chaplain,  13. 

RAMILIES,  English  flagship,  236. 
Regiment  ordered  to  Florida,  80. 
Regimental  chaplain,  place  and  work 

of,  1-14. 

Regimental  postmaster,  133. 
"  Regimental    losses     in     the     Civil 

War,"  9. 
Reno,  General,  testifies  to  chaplain's 

fidelity,  10. 

Richland  jail,  Columbia,  26  f.,  272-288. 
Richmond:    siege  of,   34,  237  f.;  fall 

of,   91  ;     demonstration    against, 

162  ;  Memorial  Day  in,  229-231. 
Richmond  jail,  prisoner  of  war  in,  255. 
Riddle,    Professor    M.    B.,   as   army 

chaplain,  12. 
Ripley,    General,    in     command     at 

Charleston,  257. 
Riverside  Park,  funeral  of  Grant  at, 

Roanoke  Island,  soldier  in  battle  at, 
48. 


Rodgers,  Commander  G.  W.,  refer 
ence  to  and  sketch  of,  25,  359-366. 

Rollins,  Hon.  E.  A.,  Commissioner 
of  Internal  Revenue,  316. 

Ruger,  General,  instructions  from 
President  Grant  to,  321  f. 

Russell,  Colonel  Charles  L.,  funeral 
ceremonies  of,  205  f. 

ST.  AUGUSTINE,  army  service  in,  31, 

80,  100,  in,  159,  216. 
St.  Helena  Island,  service  on,  19,  24, 

73.  "o. 
St.  Paul's  Cathedral,  tattered  flags  in, 

155  f- 

Salisbury,  prison  at,  132,  281. 
San  Antonio,  officers  and  men  taken 

prisoners  at,  166. 

San  Marco,  fort  at  St.  Augustine,  in. 
Sanitary    Commission,   boxes    from, 

296. 

Screven  House,  incident  in,  288  f. 
Seabrook  Island,  army  service  on,  19, 

25,  77- 

Sermons,  chaplain's,  65-104. 
Seven  Pines,  battle-field  of,  227. 
Seventh  Connecticut    Regiment,  old 

flag  of,  170. 

Seventh  Michigan  Cavalry  officer,i44. 
Seventh     New    Hampshire    at    Fort 

Wagner,  212. 
Seventy-seventh     British    Regiment, 

old  colors  of,  156. 
Seymour,   General    Truman   W.,   in 

co-operation  with  navy,  336. 
Shaw,  Captain,  party  conducted  to, 

while  under  flag  of  truce,  242. 
Shaw,  Colonel   Robert  G.,  killed  at 

Fort  Wagner,  212,  338. 
Sheridan,  General  Philip  H..  at  Gene 
ral  Grant's  funeral,  331  f. 
Sherman,   General  William    T,  :   his 

reverence   for   the   old  flag,  172  ; 

message    sending    directions   to, 

321  ;  at  Grant's  funeral,  331. 
"  Silent  Comforter,"  wall  roll,  29  f. 
"  Silver  Gray  Whigs,"  origin  of  the 

term,  369. 

Simons,  Captain  Thomas  Y.,  Con 
federate  officer  met  on  Morris 

Island  and  later,  257,  322-324. 
Sisters  of  Mercy  in  prison  hospital  at 

Charleston,  25. 
Sixteenth      Connecticut      Regiment, 

colors  of,  167. 

Sixth  Massachusetts,  chaplain  of,  13. 
Sixty-third  North  Carolina  escort  on 

flag  of  truce,  245. 

Slavery  and  emancipation,  367-412. 
Smith,    Rev.    Dr.    Moses,    as    army 

chaplain,  13. 
Soldier  graves  and  burials.  203-232. 


Index 


421 


Soldier  heart,  disclosures  of,  39-64. 

"  Soldiers'  Grumbling  :  What  Causes 
and  What  Comes  of  It,"  98. 

South  Carolina,  army  service  in,  i8f., 
24-27.  73-77.  M°,  157- 

Stars  and  Bars  on  Confederate 
steamer,  162. 

Stevenson,  General  "Tom,"  our  bri 
gade  commander,  363. 

Stevenson,  Major,  of  Boston,  in  com 
mand  of  flag  of  truce,  241. 

Stone,  Rev.  Dr.  A.  L.,  as  army  chap 
lain,  13. 

Stonington,  attack  on,  213,234. 

Stowe,  Harriet  Beecher :  her  work, 
411. 

Sunday  School  Times,  The,  President 
Grant's  message  to,  318  f. 

Surrender  of  General  Lee,  91,  200. 

Swede  as  a  deserter,  63. 

Swinton,  William,  testimony  as  to 
Commander  G.  W.  Rodgers,  365. 

TAYLOR,  General,  reference  to,  312. 

Tenth  Connecticut  Regiment,  refer 
ences  to,  passim. 

Terry,  General  Alfred  H.:  our  de 
partment  commander,  96,  408  ; 
note  on  Christmas  night  from, 
188,  199 ;  Chaplain  TrumbulPs 
release  demanded  at  request  of, 
271 ;  co-operating  with  navy,  336  ; 
ordered  to  James  Island  under, 
338. 

Thanksgiving  Day  proclamation 
from  President  Lincoln,  68  f. 

Thayer,  Professor  John  Henry,  as 
army  chaplain,  12. 

Thirtieth  New  York  Regiment,  tat 
tered  flag  of,  at  Albany,  158. 

Tiffany,  Archdeacon  C.  C.,  as  army 
chaplain,  12. 

"  Tobacco  Warehouse  Prison,"  Rev. 
Hiram  Eddy  confined  in,  255. 

Towel  used  as  flag  of  truce,  236. 

Tremont  Temple,  anniversary  occa 
sion  in,  131. 

Trumbull,  Lieutenant-Colonel,  fune 
ral  of,  100 ;  at  Malvern  Hill, 
247. 

Trumbull,  Colonel  John,  aide  to 
General  Washington,  304. 

Tsar  of  the  Russias,  coronation  0^,155. 

Turner,  "  Dick,"  of  Libby  Prison, 
examined  by,  299. 

Turner,  Major,  commandant  of  Libby 
Prison,  292. 

Twelfth  New  Hampshire,  reference 
to,  10. 

Twenty-fourth  Massachusetts:  colors 
of,  159  f. ;  Major  Stevenson  of, 
241. 


Twichell,  Rev.  Joseph  H.,  reference 
to,  13. 

"  UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN,"  influence  of, 

411. 
Under  a  flag  of  truce,  233-252. 

VAN  DOKN,   Colonel,    command   of, 

166. 
Virginia,  campaigning  in,  32-38,  81-97, 

107-109,    115   f.,    159-202,   215  i., 

218-227,  306-309,  339  f.,  394-399. 

404-410. 

WARE,  Lieutenant  E.  W.,  his  heroism 
in  prison,  60. 

Washington,  General  George  :  his  es 
timate  of  forces  keeping  soldiers 
up  to  duty,  177;  old  soldier's 
view  of,  303  f. 

Washington's  Birthday,  sermon  on, 

Wayland,  President  H.  L.,  as  array 
chaplain,  12. 

Welles,  Hon.  Gideon,  Secretary  of 
Navy,  200. 

Wellington,  tomb  of,  at  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral,  155. 

Westminster  Abbey,  memorial  ser 
vice  in  honor  of  Grant  in,  328  f. 

West  Point  Military  Academy,  rever 
ence  for  flag  at,  171  f. 

Whitehall,  North  Carolina,  field  hos 
pital  at,  46. 

Whittier,  John  G.,  Christinas  hymn 
by,  386. 

Williams,  Commander  E.  P.,  sketch 
°f>  355-359- 

Willson,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Edward  B.,  as 
army  chaplain.  13. 

Wilson,  Sergeant-Major  Joseph  K., 
concealed  regimental  colors 
while  prisoner,  166. 

Winder,  General  J.  H.,  Confederate 
Provost-Marshal  General,  290. 

Wines,  Rev.  Dr.  Frederick  H.,  as 
army  chaplain,  12. 

Wise,  General  Henry  A.,  and  old 
John  Brown,  409  f. 

Woodbury,  the  Rev.  Dr.  Augustus, 
as  army  chaplain,  13. 

Woodford,  General  Stewart  L.,  at 
gathering  in  Brooklyn,  174. 

Worden,  Rev.  Dr.  J.  A.,  as  army 
chaplain,  12. 

YANKFR  hospital,  ministering  to  sol 
diers  in,  124,  263  f. 

ZOUAVES,  Anderson's,  reference  to. 
J75- 


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